America, She's Beautiful
by K'sChoiceofAFI
Summary: AU. She walked in with long curly blonde hair, hands clasped behind her back, and a red smile, and all Rachel wanted to know was why large, burly men were following her everywhere. / She walked in to find an ordinary brunette to strike up an argument with, and all Quinn cared about was that Rachel hadn't the slightest clue who she was.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **America, She's Beautiful

**Pairing: **Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray

**Rating: **PG-13

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

**Summary: **AU. She walked in with long curly blonde hair, hands clasped behind her back, and a red smile, and all Rachel wanted to know was why large, burly men were following her everywhere. | | She walked in to find an ordinary brunette to strike up an argument with, and all Quinn cared about was that Rachel hadn't the slightest clue who she was.

**A/N:** Some AU fluff, title is a play on the song _America the Beautiful_.

* * *

"Good afternoon, and welcome to Coffee Bean Café. My name is Rachel Berry. How may I help you?"

There were days when she honestly didn't mind standing on her feet for eight hours greeting customers and taking their orders.

"Coffee. Black. To go. And hurry it up, girlie."

And there were other days where she wished that the Earth would open up and swallow this place whole along with the rude customers that frequented here. Rachel loved New York with a burning passion of a hundred suns but some of the people here were notoriously rude, especially the smokers and the coffee drinkers, which were almost synonymous on bad days.

She gritted her teeth through a smile and informed the asshole on the other side of the counter in a faux-pleasant voice, "Actually, my name is Rachel Berry. Your coffee will be ready shortly." She swiveled around before the older man had a chance to reply and set about making his coffee.

She was great at her job. She had to be or her boss would throw her out on her ass with no remorse and she absolutely needed this job to help her fathers pay for her NYADA tuition which was 'nothing to sneeze at', as one of her fathers, Hiram, had delicately put it.

Her sophomore year was winding down, and the sooner she could graduate, the sooner she could _really_ begin her career. College didn't really suit her, a free spirit who wanted to use the stage and a microphone to express herself more than anything, but she knew it was best to receive proper training if she wanted talent scouts and audition agencies to even begin to cough her way.

Cup of steaming coffee in hand, Rachel swiveled around from the coffee maker to the countertop and handed it over to the man after collecting his money. "You have a wonderful day," she demanded in a saccharine voice.

The next man in line stepped up to be served and Rachel grinned at the sight of him. She flung herself across the counter to wrap her arms around his neck. "Kurt, it's so good to see you!"

She and Kurt Hummel had been friends since high school, twin souls who could barely go a day without seeing or hearing from each other. Rachel had gone straight from her weekend dance rehearsal to work, having not contacted Kurt a single time all day. How she was going to make it on already worn feet for the next eight hours was beyond her, but she was hoping for strength.

After several seconds of holding the line up, Rachel released Kurt and returned to her side of the counter.

It was spring, but the dark, wintry scarf Kurt wore about his neck that clashed against the thin, tan button up shirt he was wearing had been on sale today at the mall, and he couldn't resist buying it and currently wearing it. He often went shopping with Rachel who was frugal with her money, only because she had to be, and was good at talking him out of a purchase—or into one.

"I came to wish you bountiful energy for your shift this evening," he sing-songed. "And also to order a double espresso—the way that I like it, you know."

Rachel shot him a dry look. He was a fellow coffee addict, the real reason he showed up to her job today; Rachel was the only person that he trusted to serve his coffee correctly.

She presented it to him with a smile once she was done and received his money. Her lips downturned into a pout when she handed him back change. "Enjoy your Saturday of freedom."

He reached out to smooth down her already fraying bangs, taking no pity on her because he was used to her pout by now after years of seeing it. Then he swiveled around with a wave. "Have a nice day at work!"

* * *

There was an aggravating stain that darkened the beige tabletop that Rachel had stopped in front of to wipe down in the last several minutes of work. Dark locks of hair fell into her face and she puffed out an annoyed huff of air at the thought of how badly her hair must look by now. But she ignored that as she tossed the damp rag in her hand back and forth with a determined frown on her face. She was sure if she scrubbed hard enough, put a little elbow grease in it, that the stain would soon be no more. Short nails dug into the tabletop as Rachel went to vigorous work, small circles being rubbed into the table. With a flick of the wrist of her unoccupied hand she gazed down at her watch. It caught the light to glare in her eye and Rachel frowned with a quiet grunt and shifted her wrist a little more to better read the time. She found that she had a half hour left—enough time to finish up with cleaning the tables, wipe the countertop clean, and turn off the appliances before leaving.

Just as she was internally doing a happy dance, the bell over the door to the coffee shop rang, alerting her to the fact that she had a new customer. Rachel's shoulders drooped and she buried her head deeper into her work, the current stain on the tabletop. She was tired; her feet were beyond sore; her feelings were a tad hurt because of the rude customers she had seen today, and more than anything all she wanted to do was close out and go home to rant to her roommate before Millie had the chance to dive into conversation about whatever latest amazing date she had been on.

"Excuse me?"

Her shoulders pulled taut in barely contained frustration, but Rachel was nothing if not professional. Besides, it was probably just nurse Monica—a woman who worked the night shift at the local hospital and came in for coffee just before nine every night.

Rachel rolled her shoulders back in preparation for conversation, and took a second or two to contort her face into a wide smile before she spun around and cheerfully uttered, "Good evening, Monica!"

Only, the woman in front of her wasn't Monica. Where Monica was a short, pudgy brunette in her late thirties with a cheerful disposition, the woman who stood before Rachel looked every bit her own age, several inches taller with gorgeous blonde hair that tumbled down her shoulders. Her face was impassive at best, and antisocial at worst with lips firmly pressed together and a sharp nose that made her look severe and breathtakingly, scarily beautiful.

Rachel fretted with her hair self-consciously, smoothing down her bangs and tucking lock after lock behind her ear.

The woman was in a dark gray dress with a white, floral hem and a pair of black sandals that glided toward Rachel with grace. "Do you work here?" Her voice was low and raspy with an edge to it that Rachel couldn't tell whether natural or laced with annoyance. Once she had finally stopped moving and talking, Rachel was able to stop focusing solely on her and become aware of her surroundings.

Behind the blonde in front of her were four burly men in tight black shirts that showed off their rippling muscles that made Rachel cringe to think about. Their gazes were just as impassive as they stood on high alert, shoulders rolled forward as if they would lunge at Rachel if she moved in any direction.

Rachel cleared her throat, heart rate spiking as the worst case scenario popped into her head. She was going to die. Robin, who had next shift and would arrive within the next several minutes, would find Rachel in a pool of her own blood because some mobster's daughter or girlfriend or _whoever_ this girl was that was so important, wanted to stop by for a cup of coffee.

"Well?" A perfectly manicured eyebrow shot up dauntingly, the only muscles to move on the woman's stone face in the past several seconds.

"Yes," Rachel croaked out, wringing the rag in her hands until droplets of liquid spilled out onto her fingertips and splashed her shoes. "I—yes, I work here. How may I serve you?"

Pink lips quirked up in amusement at the last of Rachel's statement, as if the woman was laughing inwardly at an inside joke that Rachel wasn't privy to. With her luck, she was probably the joke. The smile was gone in a flash as the woman pointedly told her, "I want coffee."

Rachel's eyebrows knitted at the request that seemed almost redundant considering the woman was standing in the middle of a coffee shop. Acid rose from her stomach onto the tip of her tongue—a side-effect of living in New York. She wasn't quick witted yet, but what New York taught her that Lima, Ohio didn't was that at the first signs of someone trying to trump you, you rip their throat out. Instead, she swallowed down a sardonic retort and forced her eyes not to roll inside her skull. "I see. What kind of coffee would you like?"

The woman before her sauntered over to the table Rachel had been scrubbing to death and slid into the booth with ease. The men behind her followed in silence, but were cut a sharp, fatal look. Her eyes were hazel, Rachel noted. They were currently slanted into a glare that could cut glass, and the men suddenly stopped moving. Upon realizing they weren't allowed to occupy the same booth as her, they split up, half occupying the booth at the table in front of the woman and half occupying the one at the table behind her.

Rachel watched the synchronized way in which they moved that hinted at the fact that they had been doing this for a while—watching whoever the uptight brat was that waltzed into her coffee shop this late at night.

Glancing at the woman who was already watching her expectantly, Rachel glanced down at her watch to find that she had twenty minutes left. With a sigh that she somehow managed to pass off as tired and not put-out, she gave the woman in the booth her undivided attention.

Hazel eyes had since widened to almost look as if the woman didn't mind actual human interaction. "You'll have to write this down."

Rachel's eyes narrowed against her will as she smelled the distinct stench of a challenge. She pointedly placed her hand on her hip while _not_ reaching for the pen and pad in the pocket of her work khakis. "We'll just see about that."

Red lips were flicked against with a pink tongue before the woman smiled, feral and not at all friendly. She placed her elbow onto the table and her chin in her hand, eyelids lowered to stare at Rachel as if she were a bother. "I need an extra-large hot coffee—half coffee, half hot chocolate, with a shot of espresso, three pumps of mocha, three pumps of caramel swirl, six creams and four liquid sugars."

Rachel schooled her features to keep from openly gawking at the woman in front of her. Her mind swirled with the tail-end of the order, having completely missed the middle. Cheeks burning in mortification, she pulled out her pen and pad with reluctance, bangs covering her eyes as she muttered, "Can you repeat that?"

Hard eyes gazed unforgivingly at the blush on her cheeks before the woman repeated her order, slower as if Rachel was touched in the head.

Tail tucked between her legs, Rachel walked away toward the counter to prepare the woman's order. Apparently this woman had a real sweet tooth. Rachel casted a curious glance behind her halfway through preparing the order to find the woman consulting with one of the four men surrounding her in a hushed tone with narrowed eyes. She didn't appear too happy, and rebuffed the last of the man's statement with a firm crossing of her arms as she angled her body away. Rachel flushed when the woman looked directly at her from across the room, and turned her head to finish the coffee. She capped it with a lid and held the base of the cup as she walked back over to place it on the table. "I hope it is to your liking," Rachel murmured, much more demure than she had been minutes ago now that she had showed her ass in front of the challenging woman in front of her.

Lips pursed as the woman pulled the lid off her coffee and blew away the billowing steam that brushed pale cheeks. Rachel watched her face intently. It barely moved from moment to moment and amusedly reminded Rachel of botox, though it was obvious to her that the woman before her was a natural beauty. Born with an amazing set of genes, but there was something detached about her that led Rachel to believe the woman almost didn't care about how beautiful she was. Even as she sat staring at Rachel, she seemed disconnected from the world, nothing in her eyes that would give away what was going on behind them.

It was chilling to look at her, so Rachel dropped her gaze to smooth down her apron.

"What's your name?"

She shivered a little—the woman, asking such a mundane and perhaps, under different circumstances, cordial question, managed to sound threatening.

Still, Rachel's voice didn't waver as she met unwavering hazel eyes. "Rachel—Rachel Berry."

"Rachel Berry," the woman murmured, brow dipping in outward display of the gears churning in her head. She paused to draw a long sip of the scalding coffee in her grip, and licked her lips before meeting Rachel's eyes. "Well, Rachel Berry, this coffee is atrocious, downright offensive, really."

Rachel's jaw quivered as her brain stuttered to a halt and made even opening her mouth difficult. With effort, her lips parted wide in outrage, blood boiling at this woman's _audacity_— "With all due respect, _ma'am_, I _highly_ doubt that _any_ cup of coffee prepared by myself would in _any_ way be atrocious. The coffee I prepare daily for patrons of this establishment is absolutely _stellar_ at best and subpar at worst!"

A slow grin worked its way onto the woman's face throughout Rachel's tirade and the heavy breathing that lifted her modest chest thereafter. Unconcerned, she had the nerve to draw another leisurely sip from the very cup of coffee she shunned then slid it across the table to Rachel with a challenging eyebrow lift. "Try me."

Stomach curling in anger, Rachel swiped up the cup of now sloshing coffee that nearly spilled onto her hand and halted when searing steam wafted across her face. The woman before her was absolutely insane to be drinking coffee at this temperature so recklessly. Rachel's throat, specifically her vocal chords were her selling point, her ticket to fame. She rarely went out of the house without a jacket when the wind blew; there was no way she was going to scald the back of her throat just to prove a point to this insufferable woman staring at her in a way that made her face warm to look at.

She blew a cool stream of air over the coffee in effort to cool it. Her skin prickled in dread as the woman before her dropped her gaze down the length of her body, giving her a once over before meeting her gaze expectantly once more. This felt like high school all over again. "Well?"

Rachel drew the cup to her lips, noting the shine of lip gloss on the other side of it as she took a sip of the coffee. She sloshed it around her mouth briefly like it was a fine wine, then swallowed down relief. She placed the cup on the table with an audible thwack of arrogance as her nose tipped up until she was staring down at the annoying blonde from over it. "This is an _exceptional_ cup of coffee, ma'am. I am sorry if _you_ don't happen to enjoy it, but your lack of enjoyment does not in the slightest reflect poorly on the cup of coffee I made you."

The woman's grin quickly turned from mocking to amused, pleased with herself as she grabbed the cup and tugged it back. The glossy side was presented to Rachel as the woman boldly met her gaze with eyes crinkling in the corners at the wide-eyed look Rachel was giving her. She put her lips exactly where Rachel's had been and maintained eye contact for four seconds—Rachel had counted—as she took a sip.

Rachel swallowed hard and released a shaky breath as she wondered, not for the first time, just _who_ _was_ this woman.

"You're right," the woman told her, licking first her top then her bottom lip as she placed the cup back on the table. "It's good."

Rachel very nearly stomped her foot. "Were you just toying with m—"

"Shouldn't you be wearing a nametag?" The woman rudely interrupted.

Rachel glanced down to the pocket of her apron, where she normally attached her nametag, to find that she was in fact not wearing one. How odd. Maybe that was why that man saw fit to call her 'girlie' nearly eight hours ago. The thought of him dredged up an old grudge with a man that she would probably never see again, and she was quick to take offense now. "I already told you my na—"

"Do you spell your name with an a-e-l or just e-l?"

She blinked, unable to keep up with the abrupt subject changes and hard inflections of the woman's voice. "I—it's spelled with an e-l."

"Good, I _abhor_ the other spelling." The blonde before her flicked her hair over her shoulder like a pretty, little princess and took another sip of the same coffee she had insulted. "And Berry's just Berry? No odd, unnecessary spelling to that?"

Rachel didn't know whether or not to be offended by the woman she had never seen before who had shown up to the coffee shop seemingly on a whim to insult whoever would be unfortunate enough to be there and put them on edge with the four, tall, large, bench pressing men who arrived with her.

Speaking of them…

Dark wisps of hair stood on end at Rachel's nape as she was suddenly reminded of the men surrounding her, the woman, _them._ She spied the two in front of her, behind the woman. One was staring back at her while another had a phone whipped out, typing away. The one who stared at her looked a little bored and a lot irritated, whether at her or the blonde before her, Rachel couldn't be sure.

She casted a glance out of the corner of her eye to the two behind her when the woman snapped a finger—actually _snapped_ _her_ _finger_ at Rachel as if she were a dog.

Rachel turned back and narrowed her eyes. "Please refrain from _snapping_ your fingers at me. I am not a pet."

In response the woman sat her arms on the table as if she were getting comfortable with that same insufferable gleam in her eyes, a cat toying with the mouse it caught by the tail.

"What is _your_ name?" Rachel challenged when silence befell them.

The woman looked momentarily alarmed before her face smoothed over just as quickly. She leaned back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest. "Lucy Quinn."

"That's a pretty name," Rachel commented, rather flatly, not willing to extend the compliment of how her name was just as pretty as she was.

The now named Lucy Quinn ignored the compliment and gestured to the booth directly in front of her. "You should sit down."

Rachel propped a knee onto the booth, but remained standing, unwilling to give up what little edge she had in this newly formed dynamic between them. "And Lucy is spelled normally?" she shot back, oddly enough with a grin now that the spotlight was off her. "Not with two O's or anything _abhorring_?"

Lucy made a face, an actual facial expression. Her nose, cutely shaped, scrunched up in distaste and Rachel bit her lip to suppress a giggle. "That would be…hideous," Lucy decided.

"It would," Rachel agreed.

"L-u-c-y."

"And Quinn isn't spelled with just _one_ N, is it? Because my OCD has just decided it wouldn't be able to deal."

Lucy glanced away, almost shyly as she smiled, genuinely. "Two N's."

Rachel stared at her then, at the smile that curved her full, pouty lips. It painted her face beautifully until Lucy Quinn looked absolutely radiant. Her smile accentuated her cheekbones, which were already accentuated by the faint blush on her cheeks. Lucy was a make-up enthusiast, Rachel realized when her eyes ticked upward to the mascara and eye liner that brought out what she felt were already alluring eyes. Lucy was gorgeous when she smiled happily, versus just being pretty—though the prettiest girl she had ever seen, Rachel was starting to realize—when she frowned. "You should smile more," Rachel instructed.

Lucy turned to look at her, blasé as she asked, "Are you going to be around to ensure that I do, doctor?"

Rachel did roll her eyes this time, because this particular customer deserved it. "Ha-ha, very funny, _Lucy_."

"I'm glad you enjoyed the joke, _Berry_."

Rachel gaped at her. "You can't last-name me!"

Lucy clucked her tongue. "Just did."

With a huff and a fold of her arms across her chest, Rachel glared at her. "Fine, _Quinn_."

The woman sat back in her seat after that with a pleased expression on her face. She tilted her head and sighed then ran a hand through her perfect hair. "Glad we can agree." Her voice hardened as she asked, "Now can we agree on getting your butt to _sit_?"

The question made Rachel blush for some unknown reason.

One of the men behind Lucy cleared his throat; the one who had looked irritated moments ago looked even more irritated now. Lucy held up a hand, looking like a queen quieting one of her subjects.

"…uh-huh. Uh-huh, yes, she's here." Rachel glanced behind her to find one of the men on the phone. He looked slightly alarmed and winced every few seconds. "Yes, sir. Yes, sir, right away, sir." When he hung up the phone his lips balled up. "Your father wishes to see you…Lucy."

Lucy's jaw tightened, eyes hardening as she looked away and sighed, "Whatever."

Just then the bell above the door jingled and Rachel jerked, alarmed by the secret phone calls, large, muscular men, _Lucy Quinn._ It was only Robin bouncing through the door, however, and Rachel's shoulders drooped in relief.

Lucy glanced behind her to the large-breasted strawberry blonde who just walked through the door. She rolled her eyes all the way back to her own table and stood abruptly. "I have to go."

Rachel startled. "M-me, too," she decided, not one to be outdone.

Lucy flashed a small, mocking grin of white, even teeth that alluded to the fact that she was quickly learning that. She smoothed down her dress daintily and stepped out of the booth. The men moved with her until they were surrounding Rachel and Lucy both. Lucy extended her hand. Then she smiled thinly. "It was nice meeting you, Berry."

Rachel took the offered hand, warm and soft with long fingers. She swallowed and met hazel eyes scrutinizing her as they had for the past twenty minutes. "It was nice meeting you, too, Quinn."

Lucy smiled, and Rachel got the impression she liked her latter name more so than her former.

Without another word, Lucy dropped a bill on the table and swiveled around to walk out of the coffee shop, hands clasped behind her back. Two of her bodyguards looked amusingly awkward as they hurried to walk ahead of her. One held open the door while the other walked out ahead of her and glanced both ways down the sidewalk in suspicion as Lucy stepped outside without hesitancy. The final two brought up the rear.

Rachel breathed a long sigh once the door finally closed again.

From across the café, Robin shot her a weird look. "What was that all about?"

Rachel could only shake her head. She grabbed the cup to throw away when she noticed the money Lucy had left her. It was a hundred dollar bill to pay for a five dollar cup of coffee. They weren't Starbucks in any way, and though Rachel knew that particular cup of coffee had been stellar, it wasn't worth a hundred dollars. This was one hell of a tip.

Robin walked closer, unused to seeing Rachel so quiet. She peeked over her shoulder to the money left on the table. "Holy _shit_! _She_ gave you that?"

Rachel nodded once again, then lifted the bill to the ceiling to inspect its authenticity with one closed eye and a narrowed one.

It was real.

That was one _hell_ of a tip.

Robin's tone was jokingly suggestive as she asked, "What happened in here before I arrived that got that girl to pay you a hundred dollars?"

Rachel mostly ignored the question, but spun around to engage Robin regardless.

"So this insanely gorgeous, outright _infuriating_ blonde walks into the coffee shop during my shift…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **America, She's Beautiful

**Pairing: **Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray

**Rating: **PG-13

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

**Summary: **AU. She walked in with long curly blonde hair, hands clasped behind her back, and a red smile, and all Rachel wanted to know was why large, burly men were following her everywhere. | She walked in to find an ordinary brunette to strike up an argument with, and all Quinn cared about was that Rachel hadn't the slightest clue who she was.

**A/N:** Surprise would be an understatement for how I felt when I got back to my computer and saw all of these reviews. Thank you guys so much. A few of you guessed correctly about just who Quinn was. I figured the title of the story would be a pretty good clue. _Political Animals_ greatly inspired this, because it was such a compelling miniseries. Having said that, I'm not sticking to _Political Animals_, but rather borrowing their format somewhat.

* * *

On days she didn't have to work, Rachel was busy balancing musical theater classes, which she adored, along with general education classes that she felt she could do without. She had spent her entire school career learning sciences in varying degrees and didn't understand why the subject was still haunting her when she was practically halfway to fame. She longed for the day where she would be belting out heartfelt melodies to a crowd of her fans and _not_ listening to Streisand while doing homework.

Just then her earbuds were unceremoniously ripped out of her ear, and Rachel swiveled around in her seat at her desk to find her grinning roommate staring back at her.

Millicent, her beautiful, never-without-a-date roommate was a statuesque brunette with a lean build. She was a dance major there at NYADA and it showed throughout every inch of her body that moved faultlessly with little effort.

Her hair was thrown up in a haphazard ponytail indicative of the fact that she had just arrived from a strenuous dance class that now made her skin glisten with a light sheen of sweat. Even when sweaty and gross in workout attire, Millicent looked like a model.

Rachel resisted the urge to roll her eyes at just how beautiful she was. "Can I help you, Millie?"

Millicent bounced up to her full height, a few inches taller than Rachel. She sauntered over to her bed and collapsed on it dramatically before she instructed, "Ask me about my date last night."

Closing her textbook, Rachel rose from her desk when it became obvious no more homework was going to get done. She went to the opposite side of her room where her bed lay, a small twin size, and sat on it with her legs folded underneath her. "How did your date g—"

"It was _wonderful_," Millicent gushed before Rachel could even finish. "He opened the door to the restaurant for me and _everything_." She began flipping through her phone with a curious furrow of her brow as she muttered, "This one is a keeper, Rach. Him, or, you know, the guy whose number I got at my recital last night."

Rachel hissed out a breath through her teeth and trained her eyes on the ceiling. Here she was, could barely get a date, and Millicent had guys ringing her phone and hair ties on their dorm room door that clearly meant 'do not disturb' all the time. Rachel had never met anyone so sexually liberated in her life. She had grown up in a small town that appreciated, among other things, chastity. It never particularly agreed with Rachel, but it wasn't like anyone had been knocking on her door back then to rebel against the archaic notion.

She appreciated her roommate and her sexual prowess as a modern woman. It was just hard to listen to sometimes when she herself was going through a dry spell.

"So what's going on in your life?" Millicent asked after a moment.

Rachel shook her head clear of her thoughts and lowered it to find her roommate staring intently at her. She hadn't even known she had zoned out. She ran a hand through her hair and shrugged a shoulder for nonchalance. "Oh, you know, just the usual."

Millicent's lips curled up playfully as she folded one long, toned leg under her. "And what is the usual for you, Rach?"

"Working," Rachel sighed forlornly, and Millicent offered a sympathetic pout that trembled in threat of an amused smile.

"Oh, honey, you gotta get out more."

"And I will," she supplied with a nod. "Once I've completed my post-secondary education, after I've won my first Tony three to five years out of college, I'll be able to get out more and party, let loose, those kinds of things."

"Rachel, you're twenty." Millicent's voice was flat. "The time to let loose is _now_."

Rachel licked her lips and opened her mouth to protest when Millicent cut her off.

"I mean, hell, go out on a date or something. Have you even looked around for someone to be interested in? The only person I've heard you talk about in weeks was that blonde from the café who made you angry a few days ago."

Her cheeks grew warm at the mention of Lucy Quinn, and Rachel ducked her head, hair falling over her face, to hide. She hadn't handled the situation too well. Lucy bested her, got under her skin for that one moment that she had told Robin, Kurt, and Millicent, and her fathers about. Granted, she often came to her dorm ranting about work, but her fixation on the dichotomy of how beautiful the woman was and how infuriating she had been had provided her with lengthy material to talk about.

She glanced away and out of the window above her bed, pensive. "Perhaps I'll try to make myself more available in the foreseeable future," she mumbled.

"_Yes_, make yourself more available," Millicent agreed. "And go _out_ sometime. You'll drive yourself crazy being cooped up in here doing homework all day long."

Rachel firmed her lips with a nod of her head. "You're right. I'm-I'm a young, energetic woman. I _should_ be going out."

"And dating."

"And dating," Rachel added.

"And having sex."

She went googly eyed at the mention of sex, and Millicent laughed.

"Come on, Rachel, let someone clean the bats out of your cave."

Her face scrunched up. "When you put it that way it doesn't sound at all appealing."

Pink lips twitched upward into a smirk. "Okay, then let someone stick their tongue—"

"Okay, you're done!" Rachel cut in, pointing a finger across the room at Millicent just as someone knocked on her door.

Millicent dipped her feet onto the floor and rose from the bed in one fluid motion. "I'll get it," she declared, amusement tickling the back of her throat as Rachel grabbed a pillow to hug away how traumatized her roommate always seemed to make her.

"Ladies, we have _got_ to talk!"

Rachel knew that voice anywhere, and turned to the door to find Kurt breezing into the room with a giddy expression on his face and a newspaper in his hands. He had a crazed look in his eye that he usually reserved for when competing for a solo in class, and Rachel scooted further away from him on her bed when he plopped down without so much as an 'excuse me'.

"Kurt," she hedged with hesitance. "What's wrong?"

"_Wrong_? Everything is _right_ with New York, hell, the _world_ right now."

"Impoverished people would beg to differ," Rachel felt the need to point out, quietly, as Kurt held up the newspaper.

From a few feet away on the other side of the room in her bed, Millicent squinted to see the headline and the photo underneath before Kurt panned over to Rachel to allow her to see it. In black, bold letters, the headline read: **President Russell Fabray, First Lady Judy Fabray, and daughters, Francine and Quinn Fabray, have graced New York City for their tentative two week vacation about the Big Apple.**

The name Quinn struck Rachel first and foremost, Lucy's surname, something she had thought to be an uncommon name. She was familiar with President Fabray, a conservative from Georgia. She was less familiar with the First Lady who would sometimes appear alongside President Fabray during speeches and in photos. She was not at all familiar with their two daughters, however.

Bemused, she placed her hand on top of the newspaper Kurt had shoved in her face, and gently lowered it. "I didn't know you were into politics, especially Republicans."

Kurt waved her statement off with a flick of his wrist. "He's a big-time conservative who verbally opposes gay marriage. Don't you know what that means?"

Rachel shook her head. "That…you're voting against him in the upcoming election?"

"That he's _gay_!" Kurt declared.

Millicent scoffed. "No way."

"I'm afraid I agree with Millie on this one, Kurt. We can't just go around assuming that every political homophobe or non-supporter is gay."

Kurt flipped through the newspaper to the rest of the story behind the president's visit. "Trust me, he's gay. Either that or he has a family member who's gay. No one has such a staunch view on a subject unless they've personally dealt with it."

Rachel glanced down to the photo of the proud man standing on a podium. It seemed that nearly four years in office had aged him. Wisps of what were once blonde hair were beginning to whiten on his head. His face put Rachel in the mind of a pitbull, vicious and bold, as he was politically. How he managed to win in the polls baffled Rachel who wanted to go back to her ballot box stuffing days, but refrained. Barely.

"Oh, look, there's a picture of him and his wife in here," Kurt pointed out. "Their marriage couldn't look more frigid if you locked them both outside during a New York winter."

"Let me see!" Millicent hopped off her bed and Rachel's own bed jiggled soon after under the weight of an added person. Gray eyes roved over the photo in interest before Millicent whistled out a breath. "I will agree that there's no love lost in that picture."

Rachel, too, glanced down at the newspaper to find a dramatically beautiful looking photo of the pair. His wife was gorgeous, though Rachel could tell she had had some work done on her face. Her eyebrows that were once playful, Rachel remembered from a photo she had seen when Russell Fabray first began his presidency, were now severe and scary, permanently raised along her forehead.

With amusement, Rachel imagined this was how Lucy Quinn would look if she permanently kept her eyebrows raised. Something else the First Lady had in common with Lucy, aside from the blonde hair, was the cool exterior, the nearly nonexistent facial expression, the chilling detachment. Below the obvious photoshopped, professionally done photo was a more candid one, President and First Lady Fabray walking hand in hand down a stage from where he must have just given a speech. There was a broad shoulder in the frame of a man who must have just been walking by followed by the pair, and two bodyguards behind them.

At the sight of them, Rachel froze. Her eyebrows dipped in suspicion as she curiously asked, "Are there pictures of their daughters in here by any chance?"

Kurt flipped to the final page of the article on the president in the newspaper, then shook his head. "Not a one."

Rachel licked her lips in thought and grabbed the edge of the newspaper to flip back to the previous page. The photo was grainy and she held it up to her face to better see it.

Millicent leaned back on the bed to regard Rachel from her spot beside Kurt. "What's wrong, Rachel?"

"Nothing is wrong, per se," she mumbled. "Just a mild curiosity that I'm trying to assuage." It had been days ago; she couldn't remember what Lucy's bodyguards looked like, but this was starting to become an uncanny coincidence. Was it possible that she had been arguing with the _president's_ daughter? And if so, was she going to go to jail for it?

"And you've never seen a picture of his daughters before?" Rachel asked, only mildly feeling like a stalker.

"His daughters rarely take pictures, especially his youngest," Kurt answered. "I've only seen maybe two pictures of the oldest. Pretty, blonde, the usual—whatever."

"Can you find a picture of them for me?" At Kurt's doubtful expression, Rachel caved. "Kurt, please? Just try for me."

"Why are you so gung-ho about this all of a sudden? You hadn't a care in the world just a few minutes ago when I told you that we may have a fellow gay on our team thanks to our very own president."

Rachel made a noise of negation in the back of her throat. "Kurt, honey, I'm not gay."

He shot her a dubious look and even Millicent cracked a smile. "Says the girl who's exclusively dated women since your freshman year here. That would make the last two years, girls: three, boys: zero."

Rachel's jaw dropped.

"And even _counting_ high school, that would still bring the total up to girls: three, boys: one."

"T-that was me simply broadening my horizon," she explained. "I have since calmed."

"Only because you haven't gone on a date in months," Millicent scoffed under her breath.

"That's not fair!"

Kurt abruptly stood from between the two of them and dusted off his shirt. "This must be some guy's wet dream," he muttered to himself as he pulled out the chair at Rachel's desk. "Why did _I_ have to get stuck with it?"

Before he knew it, Rachel was by his side, pressing her cheek against his as she booted up her laptop. "Can you just check for me?" she pleaded.

"What is this about?" he asked as if put-out even though he was already clicking on a web browser.

"That girl that I told you guys about, Lucy Quinn—I think she may have been the president's daughter."

Millicent stood from her seat to hover just behind the pair as Kurt diligently searched Google for a photo of the elusive Quinn Fabray. "So let me get this straight, you think the hoity-toity blonde who caused you to show your ass in embarrassment a few days ago…is actually President Fabray's daughter?"

"She's had stranger theories. Remember she has a sixth sense," Kurt teased.

Rachel stood to her full height with her arms folded across her chest to glare at the two of them. "I'm serious! Lucy Quinn could very well be Quinn Fabray. Stranger things have happened."

Kurt hummed in amusement, dredging up old articles written about President Fabray in search of a family photo.

"What if she is the president's daughter?" Millicent asked to humor her. "Then what?"

"Then I join the witness protection program," Rachel informed her, quite seriously. She chewed on her thumb while Kurt continued to search the internet.

Millicent snorted. "The witness protection program? Please tell me you're joking."

"I _argued_ with the president's daughter. That's grounds for, I don't know, treason or something!"

"Rachel—"

"The customer is always right—that's what my boss always tried to tell me. Why didn't I listen?" she wondered to herself as this all became much more real. She had argued with the president's daughter about the quality of the coffee she had prepared for her because her pride had refused to take the hit. "Why did I have to open my big mouth?"

The next thing she felt were slender, but strong, hands gripping her shoulders, literally jerking out of her thoughts. "Rachel. Calm down. Okay? Chances are this girl wasn't even the president's daughter. And even if she was, she gave you a hundred dollar tip. I doubt she'd do that if she was pissed at you and planning to run home and tell daddy, okay?"

Rachel took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. You're right. You're right; she gave me a hundred dollars, and _she_ engaged _me_ in conversation, and asked me—or ordered, rather—to sit down and have a conversation with her. She's not going to tell on me. I'm just—I get a little high strung sometimes—"

"Don't I know it," Millicent grumbled.

"Guys? I found a picture." Kurt's voice was proud as he summoned Rachel and Millicent closer. Rachel squeezed in beside him as Millicent leaned over his head from the back of the chair to see the illuminated box of Rachel's computer screen.

It was a family photo of the Fabray clan that was dated a year ago. It looked personal; how it leaked, Rachel didn't know. But she couldn't be bothered to watch the plastic smiles on Russell's, Judy's, and who she assumed to be Francine's face. The only plastic smile she cared for was…Lucy's.

It was undoubtedly her. Curly locks of blonde hair fell artfully down her shoulders, professionally done make-up adorning her blank face save for a faux-cheerful red smile. It was her.

Lucy Quinn was Quinn Fabray.

"I knew it!" Rachel declared loudly. "In your faces!"

* * *

Quinn flipped listlessly through a newspaper, as if everyone in the rented house her family was inhabiting for vacation wasn't running around like chickens with their heads cut off, waiting for her to get up and get a move on.

Her body lay draped along her chaise, a sigh expanding her chest. Tapered fingers with freshly done French tips flipped to the next page of the _New York Times_ before she gave up and threw it to the ground.

She was bored.

New York was boring, Quinn had decided.

She had yet to understand the appeal, why so many people flocked here year round for vacation or just for what they assumed was a once in a lifetime opportunity to see it.

The only remotely interesting thing Quinn had run into since arriving was Rachel Berry.

Her lips twitched the barest hint as she leaned back over the arm of the chaise to stretch. Rachel was amusing, everything about her. Her nose, her shrill voice, her very presence—Quinn hadn't been able to leave her alone the entire time she had spent in the coffee shop. She got under Rachel's skin, which appealed to her. And Rachel looked kind of cute when she was flustered and angry.

"What has you all smiley, hmm?"

Quinn scowled at the sight of her sister in her doorway. "You took out the best seller list," she responded coolly, referencing the newspaper as she ignored the prior question.

Frannie sauntered into Quinn's room with a teasing quirk of her lips at her little sister's ire. "I wanted a book."

"So did I, Francine."

"Well, _Quinnie_, perhaps you should be quicker about it next time."

Her throat rumbled with a frustrated growl at the childish nickname, but she didn't entertain her sister with a reply.

Frannie swatted at Quinn's bare feet with her hand. "Get up. Everyone's ready for the photoshoot and you have yet to try on the rest of your dresses—and you need your make-up done."

"I don't want to take a photo," Quinn mumbled to herself, mind elsewhere. "Also, New York is boring."

"Yes, yes, so I've been told—by you." Frannie sighed when Quinn made no move to stand up and cooperate. She sat down beside her and tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "You haven't had fun since the night you met Ra-_chel_."

"Don't say her name that way," Quinn commanded with a deep frown downturning her lips. She looked like a child not wanting to share her new favorite toy, and Frannie smiled indulgently at her, having become accustomed to that over the years.

She hummed knowingly and tucked that information in her back pocket, determined to revisit it later for closer inspection. "Come on. We have to go finish getting ready, especially you who hasn't even begun."

Quinn gestured down to the Victorian dress draped over her torso like a second skin. It was a strapless black dress with a pleated skirt that traveled all the way down to her feet. "I already have the first dress on." Her tone was reproachful without reason, and Frannie shot her a look before standing up and tugging Quinn along.

"Then get your cute butt in some pictures already."

Frannie was the antithesis of everything she was, Quinn had found out at a very young age. Only three years older, Frannie was a subded yet bubbly soul, occasionally sardonic like all Fabrays could be. But sometimes Quinn would look at her and literally see outstretched wings. If anyone in her family was an angel, it was Frannie.

Quinn was the complete opposite. Sardonic was her default. She wielded sarcasm like no one else in her family and she could cut her eyes nearly as hard as Russell. She got her looks from Judy, though Quinn wasn't looking forward to the botox route in her future that Judy had taken to continue looking youthful.

Russell was standing at the bottom of the stairs, glaring at his watch and tapping his foot. He looked up at the sound of scuffing shoes to find Quinn, now in a pair of strappy heels with her face done, Frannie at her side. His eyes narrowed. "Took you two long enough."

"Rome wasn't built in a day," Frannie replied pleasantly as she breezed past Russell as if he were a pest and not at all the President of the United States. Quinn skulked down the stairs with a frown, in search of her mother, the only one in the house who would entertain her foul mood.

She found Judy, predictably, in the kitchen. There was a tray of finger food on the counter that she was pinching a small sample of between her index and middle finger, attempting to guide it into her mouth without smearing make-up or dropping it on her dress.

Quinn sidled up beside her and placed her elbow on the countertop, chin in her hand. "You know how I feel about photos."

Judy swallowed a bite-sized portion. "This is the year of reelection, dear. Our opposing candidate is gaining attention as a 'family man', and your father's campaign manager thought it was high time he showed his own children."

Quinn sighed. She loathed taking pictures, especially ones she knew were going to be leaked to the public, because she didn't want to be known as the president's daughter. She liked to be discreet, didn't want attention unless it was of her own merit. She didn't want attention from big wig politicians or wannabes who expected her to sit around and talk donkeys and elephants with them.

Judy cupped her cheeks and forced Quinn to face her. "Look at it this way: you get to play dress up."

Quinn groaned. "I'm not a child, mom."

Judy frowned, offended. "Who said you have to be a child to play dress up? That's all this day is for me." She patted Quinn's cheek and walked out of the kitchen.

"All right, places everyone!"

It was a male's voice, the photographer's, and Quinn stood from where she had been leaning against the countertop and rolled her shoulders back. She walked into the living room, the set up for the photoshoot to find Frannie sitting far away from the hustle and bustle to tighten the strap of her shoe. Judy's hair was being fluffed by a stylist, and Russell's campaign manager, Victor, was tying Russell's tie. How Victor managed to simultaneously be a brown noser _and_ a know-it-all, Quinn would never know. All she knew was that she didn't care for the man and it always showed.

As soon as she stepped foot into the living room, hands were on her. It was her personal hair stylist for the photoshoot. "I think it'd be cuter if your hair was up, like Francine's is—symmetry is everything."

She looked across the room to notice that, indeed Frannie's hair was currently up in a neat bun atop her head. Quinn's eyes narrowed in discomfort as the woman grabbed her and pulled her along to the couch. She quickly grabbed a set of pins from inside her apron pocket and gathered Quinn's hair into one hand. "You have amazing hair," she gushed, leaning up to better see over Quinn's head. "It's very silky to the touch—slips right between my fingers."

The woman's breasts were in Quinn's face and she sighed, and skirted her gaze elsewhere. Her hair was pinned back to expose her long throat, a lock of hair falling from each side of her head to compliment her face. Just as the hair stylist was finishing, the make-up artist came in behind her to ease the intensity of the hooker red lipstick on Quinn's lips. It was a tad too red for her taste; she preferred just a shade lighter, something less maroon. She was asked to pop her lips while a napkin was clasped between them to dilute the color.

Frannie stood and walked past Quinn, grabbing her hand and tugging. Quinn shot her a grateful smile, feeling overwhelmed already. "Look at it this way," Frannie whispered in her ear. "You're _almost_ famous."

Quinn giggled quietly at the playful jab at her artsy passion of becoming an actress. It was subtly frowned upon in her family, especially by Russell who tried to push her into politics, persuading her with the possibility of being the first female president. While the feminist in Quinn would stir at the promise, it just wasn't something she wanted in the long run—scandals, slander, slurs. Politics were, more often than not, a dirty business, one she didn't want to be a part of.

She stood dutifully beside Frannie, behind Judy who was sitting beside Russell on twin chairs. As instructed, Quinn clasped her left hand behind her back and looped her right one around Frannie's waist as Frannie did the exact same thing.

"Okay, now smile!"

The lights flashed, her smile remained unchanged.

But…Quinn didn't feel anything.

When it was all over, Judy was the first to leave, walking upstairs with a stylist to unzip her dress. Russell was immediately swept in conversation with Victor. Frannie placed a hand on Quinn's arm to see if she was all right before grabbing her phone to call her boyfriend.

Quinn watched her father in silence for a moment, before she, too, left in search of something to do. Just as she grabbed the staircase railing, she casted a glance in the kitchen to find Greg, one of her bodyguards, demolishing the finger food. Plastering on a saccharine smile, Quinn clasped her hands behind her back and stalked him into the kitchen.

"Greg."

He looked up with a hum of acknowledgement, cheeks full of food. He was six foot five, well over two-hundred pounds and ate at every opportunity, except for when he was on the job.

Quinn sidled up beside him and placed her elbow on the countertop as she faced him.

"I want coffee. Now."

* * *

Rachel smiled politely at the old couple as she placed two hot cups of coffee on the table top. They were a wrinkled pair, clearly still in love after all these years. The man put an arm around the woman who blushed like a new bride, even after all this time, and Rachel's smile turned from polite to genuine as she murmured, "I hope you enjoy," and quietly excused herself.

Depressed, she walked back to the counter and sighed.

"Long shift?" Robin asked. She had just arrived two hours prior and was working until closing.

Rachel casted a glance to the couple again and sulked a little more. "Long life."

Robin leaned against the counter to better see the couple now sharing a chaste kiss. "Not as long as theirs," she ventured.

Rachel giggled despite herself. "It's not nice to point out one's age."

"Their wrinkles point out their age."

"Well, at any rate, they're adorable," Rachel decided with a wistful sigh.

"Oh, that reminds me." Robin reached into the pocket of her khakis to grab her phone. "Cover me for my fifteen. I need to call my boyfriend."

Rachel puffed out an annoyed breath, but nodded and Robin ducked out back to make the phone call. Rachel grabbed a nearby rag and wiped the countertop to give her something to do other than lament over her single life.

"Have a good evening, dearie!"

She glanced up to the older couple waving at her as they walked through the door and had to smile. "You have a nice night, as well!"

Working at the coffee shop had created a dislike within her of being called anything other than her birth name. She had been called girlie, girl, sugar, and occasionally by gross older men, baby. It had gotten old really fast. But she couldn't bring herself to be offended by the pair that had just walked out the door. The term of endearment had actually sounded endearing.

The bell above the door jingled and Rachel looked up from wiping the countertop.

It was Lucy Quinn—Quinn Fabray—_whatever_. The president's daughter, and her four bodyguards behind her.

She sauntered into the coffee shop as if she owned it, and Rachel couldn't believe she had overlooked the sense of entitlement that oozed from Quinn's pores coupled with the bodyguards days ago. Everything about her screamed important, or that was at least how she appeared to be.

Quinn looked over at her with a devious smile before she looked away and slid into the same booth she had occupied several days ago.

"Hey, I miss anything?"

Rachel latched onto Robin's arm with both hands and jerked her closer. "See that girl over there?" she whispered, rather loudly.

Robin regarded Rachel anxiously then looked over to Quinn sitting alone in a booth with four bodyguards surrounding her from nearby tables. "Yeah, she's the only girl in here besides us."

"Can you take her off my hands? I get off in ten anyway," Rachel pleaded. She casted one more look to Quinn who leaned back in her seat, face pinching in agitation, probably at not being served in a timely fashion.

Robin smirked. "Isn't that the girl who left you that fat ass tip? Why would you want to dodge her if she pays that well?"

"Yes, that's her, and…it's complicated. But I need you to cover for me. I'll owe you," she added.

Robin waved it off. "I've been late to plenty of shifts and you've covered for me. Think of it as me paying you back." She tossed Rachel a wink and fished her pen and pad from the pocket of her apron as she strolled across the floor to Quinn's table.

Rachel bit her thumb pensively as she watched Robin and Quinn interact. She thought the name Quinn suited her. It was much more regal, commanded much more respect than Lucy. She looked different today. Her hair was swept up in a bun and Rachel leaned casually against the counter as she eyed the expanse of her neck with mild interest. Her skin was unblemished, even complexion of milky pale that managed to not look sickly. Rachel briefly wondered if it was as soft as it looked.

Suddenly Robin's breasts swam in her vision and Rachel staggered back a step or two, confusion written on her face as she looked up into her eyes. "What?" she bit out uncharacteristically in alarm.

"Wouldn't give me her order," Robin said with a shrug. "First time that's happened to me. Weird."

When Rachel failed to respond in a timely fashion, Robin walked past her to lean against the counter in her usual spot.

Rachel looked to Quinn across the room. She was staring straight ahead. Then Rachel turned to face Robin. "What did she say exactly?"

Robin craned her neck to face Rachel. "She said she wanted you to, quote, 'serve her.'" Amusement swirled in Robin's eyes as Rachel's shoulders grew taut in indignation.

"She said _what_?"

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger." Robin threw her hands up in mock surrender.

Rachel's jaw clenched. "Fine," she declared in a high pitched voice that conveyed just the opposite. "If she wants me to serve her, I will."

She stalked off across the floor, leaving an amused Robin behind to face Quinn. Rachel grabbed her notepad from her pocket and put on a fake cheerful smile. "Good evening, Quinn Fabray. How may I _serve_ you?"

The bodyguards were the first to react to the name drop Rachel used. They all jerked forward in their seats as if they were about to dive tackle Rachel to the poorly mopped tiled floors of the coffee shop. Rachel winced internally and willed herself not to turn around to the two large men behind her, though dread shot up and down her spine.

If that wasn't enough of a confirmation, the glower of contempt Quinn shot her that made her feel three times too small, though _she_ was the one standing up, was enough for Rachel. Quinn's piercing gaze never wavered in its intensity, and Rachel lowered her head to her notepad and mumbled, "Can I take your order?"

The same sharp edge in Quinn's hardened gaze had crept into her voice as she informed Rachel, "Same as last time."

Rachel licked her lips, feeling like she was pushing her luck. "I don't remember what you ordered last time," she admitted.

Quinn leaned forward in her seat, dipping her head to catch Rachel's lowered gaze. "Why do you suck at making eye contact?"

"I don't," Rachel insisted, meeting Quinn's eyes. "However, I recognize that I made you uncomfortable, and for that I feel a little bad. Please don't tell your father."

Quinn leaned back in her seat, taking Rachel's captivated gaze with her. "My father in no way factors into what's going on between us. Never has."

"Us?" Rachel couldn't help but ask with an incredulous chuckle.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "An extra-large hot coffee—half coffee, half hot chocolate, with a shot of espresso, three pumps of mocha, three pumps of caramel swirl, six creams and four liquid sugars."

"Can I get a please with that?" Rachel ventured daringly, emboldened by Quinn's obvious slip-up earlier.

Hazel eyes swirled with mirth as Quinn inclined her head. "Please."

Heart pounding beneath her breast, Rachel scurried away from the lion's den, thankful to be intact. Robin met her at the edge of the counter. "Well? Spill, girl."

"There's nothing to spill," Rachel muttered. She felt mildly guilty for springing the subject of Quinn's true identity on her. It was obvious Quinn had been trying to hide it for whatever reason. Rachel couldn't think why. If one of _her_ fathers had been this nation's president, Rachel would have dropped out of school and used her fame as the president's daughter as a platform to wiggle her way into musical theater with the shining talent she already had.

But for whatever reason, Quinn was hush-hush about who she was, and Rachel wasn't going to be the one to spill beans that weren't hers. "She's as…unnerving as always, hardly has manners. But I did get her to say please."

"Taming the wild beast within, I see."

Rachel made an amused sound as she finished Quinn's order. "Something like that."

She held onto the cup with two hands and walked it over to the table, sitting it down. She then untied her apron and pulled it from over her head.

Quinn watched her closely, silent for a moment until she prompted, "Are you off work?"

"As of three minutes ago, yes," Rachel informed her.

Quinn made no move to apologize for keeping her overtime, and Rachel frowned.

"Have a cup of coffee with me," Quinn instructed after taking a sip of her own.

Rachel shook her head with an apologetic smile. "That's all right. I really have to get going. It gets dangerous here at night."

"I'll have one of my bodyguards take you home. Where do you live?"

She grew sheepish under the weight of Quinn's undivided attention, and felt her cheeks burn as she admitted, "I'm a college student. I attend the New York Academy for the Dramatic Arts."

Quinn's eyes widened. "NYADA." Her voice was a touch awestruck, to which Rachel stood a little taller, lifted her chin just a little more.

"Yes, NYADA. Perhaps you've heard of it," she teased.

Quinn smirked and placed her elbow on the table. "Yes, I've heard of it. One of the schools my father attempted to cut funding from."

A deep frown elongated Rachel's face at the revelation. "I beg your pardon?"

"You aren't into politics," Quinn noted with a tilt of her head. "Good."

Rachel groaned. "Don't remind me. Every twenty-something is so excited about adulthood that they dive right into politics and form opinions without really—"

"Knowing the history behind them," Quinn finished with a quiet smile.

Rachel's smile was slow, tentative as it crept along her face. "Did-did you just finish my sentence?"

Quinn scratched at her eyebrow. "Something like that. Because I agree, actually. Politics is a dirty business that I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole."

Cautiously, Rachel slid into the booth as she asked, "Not even with your father as president?"

A dry look was Quinn's response. "_Especially_ with my father as president."

The fact that Quinn didn't seem impressed by her own father's presidency warmed Rachel's heart. She didn't particularly agree with his ideals either. "So, what about this school budget cut thing? Did he do it?"

Quinn shook her head. "I attend a liberal arts school, as well. Cutting funding to art schools across America would be cutting funding to mine as well, so I got him to find something else besides young financially struggling students to take money from."

"You're such a hero," Rachel said, almost shyly as she folded her hands into her lap. She cleared her throat when Quinn failed to respond. "Do I continue to call you Lucy—"

"Don't—no," Quinn told her with a shake of her head. "I go by Lucy Quinn in public so no one will know I'm 'the president's daughter' and want to talk politics with me." Her voice was quiet as she added, "And so people won't treat me differently."

Rachel bit her lip guiltily at the way she had acted upon discovering that Quinn was President Fabray's daughter. "So you prefer Quinn?" she clarified.

Quinn nodded.

Stretching her arm across the table, Rachel smiled kindly. "Well, Quinn, it's a pleasure to meet you, though you _did_ lie about who you were."

Quinn eyed her hand in suspicion for a moment before she took it in her own and gave a firm shake. "I didn't _lie_, technically my name _is_ Lucy," she stipulated. "I just prefer Quinn. And I may have left out that I'm also a Fabray."

Rachel's eyes narrowed playfully. "Omission _is_ a form of lying, Quinn."

Red lips lifted into an enigmatic smile. "Not in my world."

"I'm sure," Rachel drawled in a sarcastic tone.

Quinn stared at her for a long moment, then finally released Rachel's hand. Rachel stole back her warm fingers and placed them on the edge of the table. She leaned forward. "Just know that—I won't treat you any differently," she felt the need to clarify. "And I'm sorry about earlier. I just thought that you were some-some _haughty_, snooty blonde with a superiority complex who—"

Quinn threw her head back with a laugh. Her long throat lay bare from the action and Rachel rubbed her lips together, feeling self-conscious at being left out of the loop as to what Quinn found so funny. "I _am_ all of those things," Quinn finally said without hint of apology.

Rachel sucked her teeth and glanced away from the grin on Quinn's face, refusing to find Quinn admitting to such appalling traits as charming.

"What do you study at NYADA?" Quinn asked after a moment.

Rachel perked up. "Musical theater," rushed out of her mouth.

"Figured you weren't a dancer," was all Quinn responded with. "You're so short."

"_Actually_, I've been dancing and _winning_ competitions since I was three months old," Rachel informed her, smugly.

"And _I'm_ the arrogant one?"

"Confident—I'm confident."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

It was lightning round questioning time once again, and Rachel struggled to keep up. "Uh—no. No, I do not."

Quinn arched an eyebrow. "Girlfriend?"

"I'm single."

"Hmm."

Rachel leaned forward. "What about you?"

Quinn leaned back. "Same."

Rachel licked her lips and shyly lowered her gaze. "Well, that—that's good."

"Rachel, I'm going to be perfectly honest with you," Quinn prefaced.

Rachel looked up, a tease about Quinn's recent lack of honesty on the tip of her tongue. But it died in the back of her throat at the sight of Quinn's eyes flashing with determination as they met hers squarely. "I want your number," Quinn told her deliberately. "And I would appreciate if you gave it to me."

Rachel swallowed down a lump that dissolved into butterflies in the pit of her stomach. She nodded hurriedly and reached for the pen and pad in the pocket of her apron nervously even though Quinn had already pulled out her phone.

"Okay."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **America, She's Beautiful

**Pairing: **Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry

**Rating: **PG-13

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

**Summary: **AU. She walked in with long curly blonde hair, hands clasped behind her back, and a red smile, and all Rachel wanted to know was why large, burly men were following her everywhere. | She walked in to find an ordinary brunette to strike up an argument with, and all Quinn cared about was that Rachel hadn't the slightest clue who she was.

**A/N: **Umm, I made a Tumblr! A few of you have been PMing me ever since WDMO asking me to get one, and I was skeptical, but lately I've really been needing a blog to fangirl on and I figure this is as good of an opportunity as any. If you're interested in joining me and my internet ramblings, the link is on my profile. And as always, thank you for your generous reviews.

* * *

She was a lot like her father who was a go-getter, never afraid to go after what he wanted no matter the consequences. She had always been told she was his twin, and Quinn had never taken it as a compliment nor an insult. It was just a fact they shared in common, the need to acquire things.

And there was something about Rachel Berry that made Quinn want to acquire her. Perhaps it was her wit; Quinn never felt the need to dim her intellect with Rachel the way she did with her boyfriends in high school. She had always gone for boys at the top of the social ladder and it seemed the higher they were the lower their IQ. With Rachel, Quinn could steer their conversation over a million different topics and found that Rachel kept up with minimal stumbling. She _was_ Quinn Fabray, after all, so she could understand Rachel's occasional slip-up.

But Rachel gave as good as she got, never once allowing Quinn to walk over her, and the challenge appealed to Quinn. It was thrilling, their back and forth verbal sparring.

Her steps were light, almost bouncy as she tip-toed into Frannie's room around noon. Frannie was curled up on her bed with a book she had bought from Barnes & Noble while browsing through the best seller list she had taken from the newspaper a day ago, much to Quinn's irritation.

Quinn wasn't irritated now, however. She felt a tad smug as she eased onto the bed beside Frannie.

A blonde eyebrow arched—the only physical indication that Frannie was aware of her presence.

"I got her number," was all Quinn told her, voice low and slightly unsteady in excitement.

Quinn thought it impossible for Frannie to be even more still than she was, but she somehow went stiller. After a moment, she rubbed her lips together then plucked her bookmark, a cheap paper one with a picture of a mountain on it, from her bed and placed it into her book. She closed it and looked up at Quinn with narrowed eyes. "Whose number?"

Quinn very nearly scowled, but her lips didn't quite turn downward as the feeling of accomplishment still buzzed through her, shining in her eyes as she told Frannie just _whose_ number she obtained.

And Frannie had to smile, because it was rare to see Quinn excited, genuinely. She wished that she could say she was surprised that it took a girl to make Quinn this giddy, but she wasn't.

She shook her head, then, pity seeping into her gaze as she regarded Quinn fondly. "You're such a rebel without a cause, Q."

The smile on Quinn's face dimmed, then fell away completely as she dropped her gaze to the plush bed sheets they were resting on. Jaw clenched, she bit out through even teeth, "What if _this_…is my cause?"

Her voice was uncharacteristically fragile, stripped of bravado and Frannie sighed before sitting up fully and crossing her legs underneath herself. "Really?" The question was asked, unassumingly, and Quinn shrugged.

"Maybe. I don't know."

They were both silent for a long moment in which Quinn grew sullen. Out of everyone in her family, Quinn valued her older sister's opinion most of all. She always had ever since she was a little girl. Frannie had always been and will always be her pretty, cool older sister, and the thought that Frannie was disappointed in her for getting a girl's number made her chest feel heavy.

Frannie looked down at Quinn picking at her bed sheets and sighed. "Quinn, look at me."

Reluctantly, Quinn looked up to meet Frannie's eyes. She saw no malice in them, no ill will being wished upon her. Instead, Frannie was regarding her with open curiosity.

"Are you happy, Quinn?"

Quinn shrugged a shoulder.

"Hey, stop. Don't get all sad Quinn on me now." Frannie's smile was encouraging as she asked, "When you were talking to her—were you happy?"

"It was different," Quinn answered in a small voice, shy now for some reason.

"_Good_ different?"

Quinn cracked a slight smile for the first time in minutes. "_She's_ different. She talks the long way around everything, always has an _answer_ for everything, and she has a very smart mouth."

"Like you," Frannie immediately responded with.

Quinn smiled a little wider and glanced away. Her lips balled up, making her appear serious as Frannie stared at her profile. Then, Quinn asked, "If this is who I want to be, will you be okay with it?"

"Q, you are my baby sister," Frannie informed her fondly. "I will always adore the hell out of your cranky ass." Quinn frowned at the description of her and Frannie laughed. "Just be happy. Okay? That's all I want from you."

Quinn swallowed and huffed out a breath as if she was going to speak, but remained silent. When it became obvious she was too overwhelmed to form an appropriate response, Frannie left her to her thoughts and resumed reading her book.

Quinn cleared her throat, and shook her head at herself for actually thinking her sister of all people would shun her away for this. It was just something Frannie wasn't familiar with, having grown up assuming her sister was only interested in boys considering they were all Quinn dated, for popularity reasons.

This was just unfamiliar territory that Frannie initially approached cautiously with skepticism, the way Fabrays always did.

But in the end, Frannie still accepted her and loved her through this new endeavor.

"You're such a softy," Quinn finally spoke, mocking her sister, though her tone was grateful.

Frannie smirked down at her book. "You wouldn't have me any other way."

* * *

Millicent casted a sideways glance from her phone to Rachel. "I can't believe you gave her your number."

Rachel reclined on her bed with a dreamy sigh. She had been all butterflies and rainbows since last night when she pirouetted into their room with a smile. "A pretty girl who just _happens_ to be our nation's president's daughter asked for my number, Millicent. I doubt there is a single circumstance in which I would have turned down her advances."

Millicent, from across the room, stared on incredulously as Rachel hummed a playful tune to herself and stared up at her ceiling. Rachel had been useless all day, lost in her own thoughts and fantasies. But she had finally put herself out there, made herself available, and for that, Millicent was happy. Having someone else around to split Rachel's crazy with would keep from driving _her_ crazy.

"Can you believe this?" Rachel wondered. She turned onto her side to face Millicent with an infectious smile. "The _president's_ _daughter_ asked for my number! This is—they've made _movies_ with this very premise. If ever there is a Broadway musical with such a plot, I'm a shoo-in because _I've_ had this experience—I highly doubt the women going up for said hypothetical role have ever been shown expressed interest by the president's daughter."

A laugh bubbled in Millicent's throat as she nodded, wide-eyed and a little scared. "I know. It's—"

"And _songs_ have been written about this," Rachel gushed. "They _must_ have been written about her." Her eyes lit up. "_I_ can write a song about her."

Millicent made a small noise of protest. "Honey, I've heard your songs and they're—if you write her a song she'll probably leave you."

Rachel frowned and opened her mouth to protest, but it died in her throat when _My_ _Headband_ came to mind. No matter, not of it mattered. "And she's just—" she shook her head. "I mean, she's just so _pretty_."

"I thought she was frustrating?"

"She _is_," Rachel assured. "Ugh, she so is."

Millicent raised her eyebrows at the low growl Rachel's voice had slipped into. "Uh-uh. I'm sure she frustrates you."

"Pretty girls don't just ask _me_ for my number, Millicent. Ever," Rachel continued, ignoring Millicent's suggestive tone of voice.

"Rachel, _you're_ a pretty girl." Millicent leaned back against the wall beside her bed as Rachel scoffed. "You are," she insisted. "In fact, if I wasn't into driving stick—"

Rachel giggled. "You're incorrigible."

"I'm sure Quinn didn't visit your hole-in-the-wall workplace twice _just_ because you make a good cup of coffee. You're hot, girl. Own it."

Flustered now, Rachel could only offer a small grin as she hid behind her bangs. She hadn't even known she was attractive until she came to New York where something other than stick-figured bottled-blondes were appreciated for their beauty, unlike how Lima had been. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"So what's she like?" Millicent asked, somewhat eagerly. "It's not like every day you meet the president's daughter."

"She's really…rigid?" Rachel tried, then shook her head when she felt that term was inaccurate. "But she's kind of laid back at the same time. She's just—suave," she admitted with reluctance, not wanting to pay Quinn the compliment. She tapped a finger to her bottom lip in thought. "Very persuasive."

"She would have to be to finally get you out of your shell, you hermit."

"I am not!" Rachel argued back. She huffed and blew her bangs out of her face. "I am the very definition of a social butterfly."

"You've been burying yourself into school work and your job for months now. I, for one, am glad you've finally met someone." There was a knock on the door and, without missing a beat, Millicent added, "And so is Kurt."

Rachel's face went ashen as Millicent stood from her bed to saunter over to the door. She had yet to tell Kurt. "Millie…" She drew her name out in uncertainty as Millicent grabbed the door handle. "You didn't, by chance, tell Kurt before I had the opportunity to—"

"I can't _believe_ you didn't tell me!" Kurt bellowed in a high pitched voice that made Rachel wince as he stomped into the room in a fresh pair of faux-fur trimmed boots. "I had to hear from Millicent? _Really_, Rachel?"

"Getting offended over here," Millicent grumbled as she shut the door behind Kurt.

Rachel's lips drew downward into a well-practiced pout as Kurt stalked toward her. "It only happened last night!" she whined. "And I got home and told Millicent as I was changing into night clothes for bed."

Kurt settled onto the bed beside her. "You could have at least _told_ me at—I don't know—some point _today_."

"I'm telling you now," Rachel told him with a small frown furrowing her brow. "I gave Quinn my phone number."

"Well, _yeah_, I've gathered that much by now!" They both stared at each other for a long, intense moment until Kurt broke out into a smile. "So my gaydar is exceptional, right?" he asked pleasantly.

"Though it pinged for the wrong Fabray, it was on the right track," Rachel agreed with a giddy smile.

Kurt bounced up and down in excitement. "This is my chance to meet the president!"

Rachel's eyes grew wide in alarm. "Kurt—no. Quinn doesn't like discussing politics and, by extension, her father."

He deflated and lied back on her bed. "She's no fun. What kind of person doesn't like politics?"

"People who don't like to argue?" Millicent piped up and Rachel inclined her head in agreement.

Kurt waved them off. "So what's she look like now?"

"Beautiful," Millicent replied, mocking Rachel's voice.

Rachel blushed bashfully and fidgeted with her hands in her lap. "Well, she _is_."

"More details," Kurt insisted. "I know she's blonde and whatnot."

"We just saw a year old photo of her a couple of days ago. She looks relatively the same. Her hair was pulled back into a bun yesterday, though. She looked so mature, like royalty." Rachel cleared her throat, deciding to leave out the part about how her neck looked like a vampire's wet dream.

"I want to see her," Kurt decided.

Quietly, Rachel admitted, "Me, too."

Millicent stared at the two of them before fixing her gaze onto Kurt. "Okay. So—now it's time to get _you_ a man." She then turned around and grabbed her duffel bag of dance gear to hide her smile.

Kurt appeared aghast almost instantly, and Rachel covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. He didn't much discuss his personal life anymore after embarrassing himself four months ago by coming on hard to one of Millicent's dance partners in her Modern Movement course—who was straight. But how was Kurt supposed to know _anyway_?

To add insult to injury, Millicent ended up with his number a few weeks later and spent a month with a do-not-disturb hair tie on hers and Rachel's door.

He colored in mortification at the memory, then firmed his lips into a straight line. "For your information, I am _trying_ to get the hot twenty-five year old's number who works at Dick's Sporting Goods."

Incredibly giddy because the gorgeous, utterly _vexatious_—though Rachel found it appealing now that she understood what it meant, that Quinn was flirting with her, however juvenile it was—daughter of this nation's president asked for her number—Rachel lazily asked around an amused smirk, "Are you sure he's gay?"

Millicent threw her head back with a bark of laughter then tossed her bag over her shoulder while Kurt stewed in annoyance and glared at Rachel with folded arms. "I have to go, kiddies," Millicent threw breezily over her shoulder as she sauntered to the door. "Play nice."

* * *

It wasn't until sometime later when her phone rang. Rachel glanced at the clock at the head of her bed, before swiping up her phone from beside her. The call was coming from an unknown number, and butterflies let loose in the pit of her stomach at the possibility of Quinn calling her.

"Hello?" Her voice was shaky in uncertainty, and she cleared her throat and tried again.

"I want to see you."

Her stomach knotted at the dark and forceful tone of Quinn's voice. She swallowed and asked, "When?"

"Preferably now, but I understand if you're busy."

"No, not at all," Rachel assured in a quick breath. She hastily pushed aside her homework as if Quinn was there now and would see her lie. "Would you like to meet somewhere?"

"What's your dorm room number?" Quinn asked instead.

Rachel's spine straightened and she gasped so hard it hurt her throat. "Y-you're _here_?"

Quinn's voice held laughter when she responded. "Well, I'm certainly not home. Not on a Friday night, anyway." She paused. "You're in the dorm for second years, correct?"

Rachel shook her head in wonder. She had never felt this…_desired_ before, and by a woman that she barely knew, no less. "Room 316," she whispered and glanced around her room with widened eyes to assure that it, or at least her side of it, was clean.

"All the way on the third floor? Are you kidding me?" Quinn grumbled to herself, and Rachel giggled. "Don't laugh at me."

"Too late," Rachel sing-songed to further irritate Quinn even as she eagerly walked to her door. "Are you close?"

"I'm not far."

Rachel opened her door and peeked her head around the corner to find an empty hallway. Her lips set into a pout, though she logically knew there was no way anyone could climb stairs that fast. "My door is open right now, and if you aren't here within the next five seconds, I may just close it." She could barely stifle a flirtatious giggle.

It was silent on the other line for a moment until Quinn forcefully told her, "You wouldn't."

Excitement shot up Rachel's spine. "Try me."

"You know," Quinn began conversationally, "I would hate to have my bodyguards drag you by your hair—"

"_You_ wouldn't," Rachel practically yelped at the visual that popped into her head almost instantly. Quinn's bodyguards were huge, their arms thick, hands big, and just thinking of one of them dragging her anywhere by her hair—her lips set into a pout again.

She was three doors down from the flight of stairs at the center of the hallway and heard the thumping of feet grow louder as someone approached. Her pulse quickened in anticipation.

"Try me," Quinn mocked, and Rachel could hear the way Quinn's voice over the phone now echoed the real thing that was coming toward her. She sucked in a deep breath and held it.

Quinn was prettier each time Rachel saw her. She looked radiant now as she stepped into the hallway and casted a glance down one side before finding Rachel on the other and sauntering toward her. Her lithe body adorned with a floral dress moved sleekly with purpose, eyes fixated on Rachel as she walked in a pair of calf-high dark brown boots that thudded against the floor. Her hair was down this time, rivulets of gold traveling down her shoulders, and Rachel took all of her in with a raise of her eyebrows.

"You look beautiful—stunning," she breathed in awe that this girl was actually interested in her.

Quinn smiled proudly as she came to a stop in front of Rachel. Her gaze dipped, leisure in its exploration down Rachel's body. She wore a light, gray sweater tucked into a criminally short pair of black shorts with a thin red belt wrapped through the loops. Quinn slid her eyes down Rachel's bare thighs to her charcoal socks that kissed her knees and traveled all the way down to her feet. She raised an eyebrow. "So this is how you dress outside of work," she mumbled. She watched Rachel's toes wiggle before she looked up to the semi-nervous expression on her face.

Rachel tugged self-consciously on her light gray sweater. "If you don't like this you should have seen how I dressed in high school," she said, then laughed self-deprecatingly.

Quinn scrunched her forehead. "Who said I didn't like it?"

"Sorry, I just—I don't dress as if I'm fresh out of an Anthropologie catalogue, or anything."

For a moment Quinn was completely dumbfounded. Gone was the fiery, annoying girl she had met at the coffee shop. And now standing before her was an unsure, insecure mess. She decided it was unappealing.

"I like what you're wearing right now, and I would appreciate it if you made eye contact," Quinn told her sharply.

Rachel tensed then rolled her eyes because of course Quinn would turn the compliment into something _not_. But she looked up anyway, with a small smile. "Well—p-perhaps you'd like to see my room now?"

"I would like to be let in at some point."

Rachel opened the door wider and made a sweeping gesture of her hand. Quinn stepped into the room and roved her eyes over every available inch. She looked from left to right, from Millicent's side of the room to Rachel's, and managed to choose the correct bed to sit on. "You have a roommate," she noted evenly.

Locking the door, Rachel stepped further into the room. Her nod was a touch contrite. "I do."

"Where is she?"

"She has a dance class," Rachel informed her as she sat beside Quinn. She felt nervous, having not invited a girl back to her room in months, and certainly not anyone of such significance. Someone who had bodyguards who took every step she took—

Rachel frowned curiously at the sight of Quinn, back stiff, glancing around her room with mild interest. "Where are your bodyguards?"

The corner of Quinn's mouth lifted. "They're around, on campus somewhere." She turned to look at Rachel, exasperation written clearly on her face. "They text me every half hour and if I take longer than five minutes to respond, then they'll have this entire campus locked down and start searching for me."

Rachel's eyes widened to saucers at the extremity of it all. Shyly, she dipped her head and regarded Quinn through her eyelashes. "You're really important, aren't you?"

Quinn shook her head. "My father's just obsessive with protecting us."

"Us?"

"I have a sister."

"Right—I knew that," Rachel cut in. "From the picture."

Quinn's eyes seem to glow pleasantly at the admission. "Have you been stalking me?"

Her voice purred in delight, and Rachel felt the back of her neck grow hot at the sound of it. "Not _stalking_, per se. Just assuaging curiosities via the world wide web."

Quinn nodded along with a concentrated frown as if she were absorbing Rachel's words. "Mhm, mhm, stalking, gotcha. And pretty good stalking considering I don't take very many photos."

"You're calling _me_ a stalker?" Rachel smirked smugly. "Says the girl who showed up at my job twice, then asked for my number."

"You make good coffee, and I may require your services outside of your normal hours."

Rachel sighed, through a smile. "You must think you're _so_ funny."

"Actually, I've never been known for my humor," Quinn told her easily enough.

"What _have_ you been known for?"

Quinn smirked. "Some _haughty_, snooty blonde with a superiority complex, I've been told."

The tips of Rachel's ears burned red at having her own words from just a day prior thrown back at her. "You have the memory of an elephant," she grumbled.

"Your bed is really small," Quinn told her suddenly as she reclined back to rest on her elbow. She pressed her fingers into the soft mattress.

Rachel cleared her throat as she stared down at the lax way Quinn draped herself across her bed as if were her own. "Why would that matter to you?" she asked, breath little more than air.

And Quinn, for the first time, lacked an eloquent response. She just looked up at Rachel, then back down at the bed and puffed out a breath.

"You look…incredibly cute when you're shy," Rachel couldn't help but tell her.

Quinn scrunched up her nose at the description and looked up at Rachel sitting cross-legged on the bed. "Cute?"

She could tell Quinn wasn't fond of the conclusion she had drawn, and that made it all the more thrilling. Rachel nodded with a smirk. "Very."

Quinn scrutinized her for a moment, twisting her lips in thought. She squinted. "I don't think I like you anymore."

"You _liked_ me ever?" Rachel exclaimed, only half teasing.

"No," Quinn whispered like it was a best kept secret, and Rachel felt compelled to lean closer until they were both facing each other, lying opposite ways across the bed. Rachel kneeled from the edge of her bed and met Quinn in the middle as Quinn told her, "I _may_ have, but I definitely don't, now."

"That's a shame, really," Rachel told her, fiddling with her hands as if she were actually upset. "Because I may actually like you."

Rachel studied musical theater so, abstractly, Quinn knew she was an actress. And she couldn't tell whether or not the vulnerable way Rachel's eyes would widen and shine through their own darkness was borne of sincerity of just award-worthy acting.

Quinn licked her lips to stall what would be her own reply, if she had one. Instead, she asked, "What do you want to be?"

Rachel's reply was automatic. "An actress—on Broadway."

"What if you don't make it?"

There was a challenging glint in Quinn's eyes that Rachel was really beginning to like. In addition to infuriating her, it also made her feel really jittery and excited like she could just stand up and sing a powerful ballad that would move Quinn to tears and make her fall in love all at once.

"I know I'll make it," Rachel told her with a distinct husk to her voice that hadn't been there before.

Quinn must have liked it because she rubbed her lips together, then prompted, "But if you _don't_—"

"There is no but," Rachel told her, quite seriously. There were some things in life that she was unsure about, and at times she was unsure of her own capabilities, but if she had to improve she _would_ because she was _going_ to appear on Broadway, numerous times in numerous plays and procure numerous Tony's.

The fire in her eyes was back and, quietly, Quinn simmered in heat from just staring at her. She cleared her throat and steepled her fingers together on Rachel's bed. "I look forward to seeing you in your first role."

Rachel smiled kindly. "Thank yo—"

"With the free tickets you're going to give me."

A laugh bubbled in her throat and spilled up abruptly, unattractively like a belch. "Your father's the president. I'm sure you have _more_ than enough money to see me."

"My father won't be president by then."

"You're rich," Rachel told her.

"How do you figure?"

"You _look_ rich."

"I look refined," Quinn corrected, then smiled roguishly as she admitted, "And I look like I _may_ come from money."

Rachel touched her tongue to the inside of her cheek in exasperation and cut Quinn a sidelong glance. "You're so modest," she griped sarcastically.

Quinn shrugged a shoulder. "It's not at all my money. Humble enough for you?" Their gazes locked for a long moment in which it appeared that Quinn was almost looking for…acceptance. What she wanted to be accepted for, Rachel didn't know; _she_ was the one working eight hour shifts after dance classes on weekends until her lower back was sore just to be able to contribute to her overall tuition because her fathers could barely afford NYADA even with the scholarships Rachel had earned and the loans that they begrudgingly applied for.

She was the 'poor girl' from a small town that everyone in her classes was convinced only contained farms, street corner pharmacies, and sock-hops. Rachel couldn't fathom what Quinn would want reassurance from her about, but her fingers crept through the distance between them and slid between the negative spaces of Quinn's own anyway. Quinn's fingers were long, nimble and warm, and Rachel squeezed her own around them with a thick swallow. "Where do you attend school anyway?" she croaked out into the silence of Quinn just _staring_ at her and their hands without saying a word.

"A liberal arts school down in Virginia," Quinn whispered. "I used to attend Yale—but I transferred."

"Yale?" Rachel blinked. "Yale, as in—_the_ Yale, the Ivy League school everyone wishes they could attend?"

Quinn smirked. "I don't know if _everyone_ wishes that." She was barely following along with the conversation, intrigued with how soft Rachel's touch was, a thumb stroking across the palm of her hand, almost ticklish. She squirmed.

"What made you leave Yale of all places?" Rachel asked, eyelashes fluttering against her cheek. She tended to blink rapidly when engrossed in conversation with someone she found fascinating.

Quinn shrugged the shoulder of the arm with the hand that wasn't wrapped up in Rachel's, not wanting to disrupt the gentle, distracting way Rachel acquainted herself with every digit. "It just didn't fit me."

It was a vague answer, and Rachel wanted more. "Was it not the appropriate school for your major?" Her brow furrowed. "What is your major anyway?"

"I—well, it's theater," Quinn stiltedly told her. "Don't laugh."

"I'm in _musical_ theater, the nerdy concentration of theater," Rachel told her, even giggled. Her eyes were alight in excitement at Quinn's major and she absentmindedly squeezed her fingers and asked her, "Did Yale not have a passable drama program?"

"It was a great program," Quinn mumbled.

"But you preferred a liberal arts education," Rachel supplied.

Quinn cleared her throat and added, "At an…all girls university."

Rachel sat back on her heels, though her fingers still tangled intimately with Quinn, at the revelation. "Oh," she uttered, like a simpleton.

"And, I mean, it has other attributes as well," Quinn glossed over. "It has a very positive all around attitude toward women, building confidence, and there's—feminism and I'm pretty big on that, so—"

"Quinn," Rachel said softly. The haughty, snooty blonde with a superiority complex had never looked this nervous, though, granted, Rachel had only known her for a few days. Her entire fist was wrapped warmly around Quinn's index finger, and she squeezed it then tugged until the rest of Quinn's sentence died in this strangled sound and she met Rachel's eyes. "Your school sounds lovely. Do you like it?"

Rachel sounded, right now, a lot like Frannie, like all she cared about in all that Quinn had just told her was whether or not Quinn was happy. "I really—it's nice," Quinn said with a stiff spine, and reserved nonchalance creeping back into her voice.

A phone began to chime, and Rachel glanced over at Quinn upon realizing it wasn't hers.

Quinn rolled her eyes and grumbled something under her breath before fishing out her phone from the inside of her boot. Charmed at the location of it, Rachel just smiled as Quinn frowned down at her phone. "Is it your one of your bodyguards?"

"Yes," Quinn replied in a gruff voice that Rachel detected petulance in. She was so spoiled and a part of Rachel couldn't help but find it cute.

Out of curiosity, Rachel grabbed her own phone to realize she had missed a text, from Brody, her partner in dance class. She wracked her brain anxiously as she opened the text and wondered if she had forgotten that they were supposed to practice for a routine or somethi—

"Who are you texting?"

Rachel looked up to find Quinn gazing at her impassively. She bit her lip and tried to examine what it meant. "Brody." Her eyes twinkled as she added, "My _dance_ partner," alluding to yesterday when a certain someone had doubted her capabilities.

Quinn inclined her head as if she was going to give Rachel this one victory, but then she said, "Just make sure you don't stomp on his toes and break them."

Rachel glared at Quinn as pink spread across her cheeks because there _had_ been a few times in which she had nearly taken a toe off the poor boy with the heel of her shoe, but it couldn't be helped. The routines her dance instructor came up with were very intricate from time to time.

When she looked up again, Quinn was staring at her with newfound interest. "When is your next rehearsal?"

She finished replying to his text inquiring the exact same thing as Quinn and tossed her phone aside. "This weekend, after work. If I'm not dead, that is."

Quinn just hummed and glanced away in thought for a moment. "Okay."

Her profile was stunning and had Rachel reaching for Quinn's hand again because perhaps stroking her defined cheekbone was a tad too intimate for what they were doing right now, whatever that was.

She idly wondered if Quinn was a lesbian, but didn't ask, felt that too personal a question. Her fingers were very long and slender, and Rachel couldn't stop tracing them with the tip of her index finger, or fisting one, appearing to be playful though her stomach knotted with decidedly non-playful connotations.

"You should come," Rachel spoke up a moment later when she decided to give her dirtier thoughts a rest.

Quinn must have been having thoughts of her own because she gave Rachel a look then reddened and sputtered, "What?"

"To my rehearsal," Rachel told her, licking her lips as her face burned as well. "On Saturday. Or maybe Friday, it depends on my schedule. If you want, that is."

Quinn waited patiently as Rachel finished talking, then offhandedly said, "Well, I was planning on coming regardless, but an invite is nice."

And Rachel glanced away with an incredulous laugh because she had never met someone so determined to foist herself into her life this way.

But, damn, did she like it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **America, She's Beautiful

**Pairing: **Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry

**Rating: **PG-13

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

**Summary: **AU. She walked in with long curly blonde hair, hands clasped behind her back, and a red smile, and all Rachel wanted to know was why large, burly men were following her everywhere. | She walked in to find an ordinary brunette to strike up an argument with, and all Quinn cared about was that Rachel hadn't the slightest clue who she was.

* * *

She could feel the bead of sweat trickling down her neck before Brody spun her around then dipped her. Then the bead of sweat was running back up her neck as her hair cascaded down her back, and really, nothing about this made her feel very sexy, especially when Rachel knew her dance instructor was watching her with narrowed eyes, criticizing her at every turn, literally.

But every once in a while, Rachel would catch _her_ eye—Quinn who was several feet away with her back pressed against a far wall, legs crossed at her ankle boots, head inclined forward as if she could still look down on Rachel even from this far away. Her attentive eyes were bright in the dimly lit room that lacked air conditioning and could only remain cool when the lights were off.

Cassandra July, Rachel's blonde, no-nonsense dance instructor—who was beginning to remind her a lot of Quinn—believed that the lack of air conditioning motivated everyone to work harder and weeded out the asthmatics.

Brody jerked Rachel back up and into his chest in an embrace just as the music ended. All that could be heard was their joint breathing, labored wheezes in the thickening silence and heat in the room.

Then, clear as day, the sound of clapping loosened the muscles in Rachel's shoulders. She whipped her head around in surprise that her instructor was offering any kind of praise, to find that it was Quinn who was actually clapping for her, a slow smile spreading across her face that made Rachel shiver.

Cassandra eyed Quinn for a long moment, a cross between annoyed and flat out disinterested. Quinn raised an eyebrow when Cassandra didn't speak, and Cassandra whipped her head around to face Rachel and Brody. "Good. Could be better."

It was the only compliment Rachel was going to get, but at least it was a compliment. Several months ago, at the beginning of the year, Rachel had left nearly every rehearsal in tears because she had spent her entire life _knowing_ how great of a dancer she was and Cassandra would spend every rehearsal telling her the exact opposite.

After several grueling nights of practicing with Millicent, Rachel had finally earned compliments from Cassandra, though they were few and far in-between.

She sighed and stepped away from Brody in an attempt to minimize the body heat between them. With a shy smile, Rachel casted one more glance to Quinn. She cleared her throat upon realizing Cassandra and Brody were both watching her in interest. "I-I—well, thanks," she sputtered with flushing cheeks. "Brody and I worked very hard."

"Rachel's an awesome partner," Brody supplied when Cassandra's eyes narrowed further.

Cassandra scrutinized the two of them then looked down at her watch with a frustrated sigh. "Just keep practicing," she decided. She spun around sharply then marched across the floor and out of the room.

Brody whistled out a breath. "She must have had somewhere important to be. She never wastes time being a ball buster."

Rachel was inclined to agree, but none of that mattered right now. Her tongue felt like lead in her mouth as Quinn slowly approached with hands clasped unassumingly behind her back, twinkling eyes that conveyed otherwise. Her lips were pressed into a tight line, color draining from them as she marched closer. "Who is your friend?"

Rachel took a step away from Brody and gestured toward him. "Brody, this is Quinn. And Quinn—" She turned to find Quinn eying Brody in distrust, and bit her lip to stifle a smile. Her voice softened as she said, "Quinn, this is Brody—my dance partner."

Quinn extended her hand across Rachel by her side to Brody in front of her. Her eyes were still gleaming, narrowing as she sized him up. He was a guy of medium height, which meant he was still taller than her, slim build, and scruffy facial hair that somehow still made him look like a child.

Rachel shifted in nervous energy, hoping Quinn wouldn't purposefully squeeze Brody's hand too tightly or call one of her bodyguards inside to rough him up in an effort to show that—what, exactly? She shook her head of her more theatrical thoughts to find Quinn stealing her hand back to herself and clasping it behind her back. Then she stepped forward into Rachel's personal space and murmured, "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," Rachel whispered, swept up in the sudden intensity pouring from Quinn's eyes and leaking into the narrow space between their bodies. Quinn's gaze dipped the barest hint in distraction, before she cleared her throat and rocked back a step. Her movements were robotic as she casted a glance to Brody, then walked off. "It was nice meeting you, Brett."

Rachel's eyes pinched tightly even as she followed Quinn. "His name is Brody—bye, Brody," she tossed over her shoulder.

Quinn gave a bored sigh. "Does it matter?"

Rachel stopped at the threshold of the door, the evening sun easing her pupils. When Quinn no longer heard tiny footsteps trotting behind her, she spun around to find Rachel's eyes shining brightly up at her. "Are you jealous?" Rachel asked, mystified.

Quinn bristled with a frown at the question. "_No_." Her voice was weighted with finality and silence reigned between them. She licked her lips in the deafening stillness. Her shoulders drooped, only barely, as Rachel stepped closer. "Do I need to be?" Quinn countered lowly.

Rachel's only response was to slide her fingers along Quinn's until she was clasping her hand with a warm smile. She watched the way Quinn's brow furrowed adorably in confusion as her heavy gaze landed on their hands. She felt the way Quinn tensed in uncharacteristic uncertainty, watched the way Quinn watched the people on the sidewalk largely ignore them and their interaction.

In her own uncertainty, Rachel retreated half a step and released Quinn's hand. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. With you being the daughter of a very conservative man who just happens to be the President of the United States—it's probably weird holding my hand. I mean, people could notice you—_us_, holding hands, and—"

Quinn practically jammed her hand back into Rachel's own, and it hurt a little, but the message was clear. "One of my bodyguards, Greg, is driving. Would you like a ride back to campus?" Quinn frowned, then asked, "Or did you drive here?"

"I don't…own a car," Rachel admitted sheepishly. "With the economy in a downward spiral and the rising price of gas—"

"Rachel, I'm not in school," Quinn told her, almost laughing. "Please don't teach me about the economy right now."

Her voice was especially pleasant when amused, and it took all of Rachel's willpower to not melt into Quinn's side. She was _not_ that easy, and refused to give Quinn the satisfaction. She did, however, gently squeeze Quinn's fingers with a positively enamored smile. "I would love a ride, thank you."

Hand in hand, they walked down the busy New York sidewalk on a sunny Saturday afternoon when Rachel asked, "Why _aren't_ you in school right now, anyway?"

Quinn flashed a roguish grin. "I finished all my work for the semester."

"So you're a super-genius?" Rachel asked, mildly sarcastic.

"Something like that."

The car Rachel arrived at was a sleek, black sedan, not as much of a showoff vehicle as she had been expecting—such as a Hummer.

The driver's side door opened and a rather large man unfolded into the outside world. Greg, Rachel guessed. He was dressed in a pair of black slacks and a gray t-shirt that clung scarily to his muscles. She couldn't help but think that Greg would have come in handy in high school when she was being bullied with slushies and insults thrown at her.

Greg walked around the car and exchanged a few hushed words with Quinn before he opened the backseat door. Quinn climbed inside and Rachel followed. She felt like a star before her time as she gazed out of the tinted windows to Greg walking around the other side of the car.

"What are you doing today?"

Rachel turned to Quinn who was scrolling through her phone with a certain level of concentration. "Probably sleeping," she admitted, almost apologetically. Her muscles were already dissolving from feeling wired to tired, jelly that was barely clinging to her bones. She sat up a little straighter in her seat to prompt, "Unless you wanted to do something."

Quinn placed her phone in her lap then turned to Rachel with newfound interest. She examined her for a long moment then shook her head. "No. You should sleep."

Disappointment expanded in Rachel's chest, and her bottom lip poked out before she could even control it. Not that she would have, because her patented pout usually got her what she wanted. What she wanted right now, however, she wasn't too sure of. "You should come over," Rachel decided.

A lone eyebrow arched in amusement and incredulity. "And watch you sleep?"

Rachel shrugged a single shoulder. She had had weirder ideas.

Quinn just hummed and turned to look out the window.

* * *

Her spine was stiff as she sat on Rachel's bed, hands clasped in her lap as she valiantly tried to avoid Rachel's near nude, sluggish body undress itself to its bare minimum.

Now, back in her dorm room, it was obvious how tired Rachel was after dance rehearsal. Her movement was slow, overly concentrated as she kicked off the pair of shorts that had pooled at her feet. Her legs were long, and it took Quinn long seconds to trek all the way down them and back up. She reached the scrap of black underwear barely covering anything and respectively elevated her gaze to find Rachel peeling off a sweat-dampened, equally black tank top.

Only when Rachel was dressed down in a cotton shirt and shorts did she notice Quinn's rapt gaze appraising her, intensifying every few seconds. Rachel approached the bed with familiarity that Quinn lacked. When Quinn made no effort to move backward, Rachel smiled, a little mockingly. "This won't work if you're sitting up."

Quinn huffed, shakily, and glared up at Rachel before she bent down to untie the strings of her beige and navy wedged heels. They thudded against the floor and she scooted back while Rachel crawled into bed. Before Quinn could even become aware of what was happening, she felt Rachel's back press against her and a hand reach out for her arm to curl around Rachel's waist.

It was silent for a full minute and Rachel bit her lip to stifle a giggle, somehow just _knowing_ Quinn wanted to say something.

"And I'm just supposed to _lie_ here?"

"Have you never cuddled before?" Rachel asked.

"Not…_often_."

Reluctantly, Rachel turned over to face Quinn. Her dark eyes were heavy-lidded, sleepy. Quinn's own were wide with mild discomfort and, without thought, Rachel reached up to cup the side of her face to put her at ease. Her thumb ran along Quinn's cheek. It was warm and soft, and slackened in shock.

Rachel just offered a small smile and trailed her hand down, brushing along Quinn's neck, down her shoulder and arm until she could loop her own arm around Quinn waist. She burrowed closer until the tip of her nose brushed a long, pale throat.

Quinn shivered, and Rachel could feel her swallow.

"This is how you cuddle," Rachel informed.

"Well, I knew that," Quinn attempted to sass back, but her voice had grown far too raspy.

Rachel snuggled closer in obvious invitation, and Quinn sighed before returning the embrace. Her fingers extended to cover as much of Rachel's back as she possibly could. It was unlike anything Quinn was used to. She wasn't much of a hugger, had only hugged her boyfriends because she felt that was the appropriate thing to do in a relationship. Rachel's body was different, soft muscles that were trim and smooth instead of bulky. Then Rachel just sunk into her with a sigh that sounded so content.

The hand on the back of Quinn's dress plucked at the soft cotton material aimlessly. "I thought you were going to sleep," Quinn murmured.

Dark eyebrows furrowed. "I keep thinking."

"About?"

"You're kind of intriguing."

Quinn half-smiled. "Only kind of?"

Rachel pinched at Quinn's side, and an embarrassing little giggle erupted from Quinn's throat before she could stop it. "Cut that out," she growled.

Rachel pacified her by rubbing her thumb deep into Quinn's side. A thumb became all five of her fingers kneading into Quinn's back. Rachel hummed a little pleasant tune in her head as she scooted that much closer.

The heat was oppressive and constricting, only amplified by Quinn's own body heat as Rachel burrowed closer to her, but even the threat of heat stroke couldn't keep Rachel away. Quinn was less infuriating when she was quiet, but Rachel found she liked her either way. And she liked the way Quinn's hipbone protruded outward along with her curves. She liked the way her hand molded to Quinn's hip.

She liked the way Quinn's breath hitched when her thumb brushed across her just so.

Rachel, or her nose, rather, felt Quinn swallow once again. Then she shivered a little, her entire frame shaky like a fawn first learning to walk on unstable legs. Her innocent hesitancy caused a sly smile to bloom across Rachel's face as she jumped the gun to assuming she was Quinn's first girl-on-girl experience. But perhaps she was. And perhaps Quinn was scared, but her pride wasn't about to send her scurrying away to the other side of the bed, which was only an inch of available space, really.

Rachel's hand wandered up Quinn's back to just under her shoulder blade as she said, "This isn't so bad, is it?"

She hadn't even known Quinn's body had tensed until all her muscles slackened. Quinn hummed and sighed all at once. "I guess."

"You'll get the hang of it."

"I've _got_ the hang of it just fine. Thanks."

The companionable way in which they held each other eased Quinn's slight anxiety. There was something to be said about unassertive cuddling. The way Rachel fit her was so different, tucked under her chin, leaving Quinn free to drag her eyes over what she could in the room. She was given direct view of Millicent's side of the room, which she honestly didn't care about, so her eyes slid closed and she thought of all the ways her father would be upset with her right now if he knew where she was and what she was doing.

On some level, it satisfied her.

* * *

"Admit it."

"Admit what?"

"That I'm a superbly talented dancer and that perhaps you shouldn't judge a book by its cover."

"I'll admit that you have freakishly long legs for someone of your stature that aid you in your dancing."

Rachel giggled and shuffled on the bed to bump Quinn's hip with her own. "That's very mean."

"It's honest," Quinn replied breezily.

Rachel hummed a noncommittal reply. She slid her index finger along Quinn's then tapped it with the pad of her own. "What are your parents like?" she wondered aloud. "They seem quite the perfect pair on glossy magazine covers." She left out the part about how Kurt felt that the Fabrays were trapped in a loveless marriage, because that just seemed rude. True, but rude.

They were lying shoulder to shoulder on Rachel's twin sized bed, a half hour after Rachel had collapsed for a nap. The fact that she had sprang up after only thirty minutes alarmed Quinn to say the least. She had never met anyone with so much energy.

Quinn's voice drawled with disinterest as she spoke. "My parents have been divorced for nearly five years, but to the media they're still happily married because admitting he was divorced would have ruined by father in the polls."

Rachel nearly swallowed the foot in her mouth and scrambled to sit up with a profuse apology. "I had no idea. Had I have known, I would have _never_ brought up what is most probably a very hard thing for you to talk about or even _think_ about—"

"I don't really care," Quinn told her, even shrugged for good measure. She elongated her neck to glance at Rachel by her side. "I don't like cheaters." She grew quiet for a moment, and her voice was softer when she found it again. "Though I've cheated a few times in my life." Her eyes hardened as she stared Rachel down. "Do you think that makes me a hypocrite?"

Rachel chewed on her lower lip as she scrutinized Quinn tangled up in her bed sheets.

It just _had_ to be a metaphor for something. And metaphors had always been important to her.

She cleared her throat. "You cheated on someone?"

Quinn didn't even blink. "In high school, on nearly every boyfriend I had."

"Well, that hardly counts. No one really knows who they are in high school, or what they want," Rachel stipulated. She rubbed the back of her neck and her expression grew sheepish. "I once cheated on my boyfriend, too. And he, me, so..." There was a point to her statement, but she lost it due to how awful it sounded.

Quinn seemed unaffected as she propped herself up on her hands to sit up on the bed. "What if I know what I want, now?"

Rachel rubbed her lips together. She felt shy suddenly with Quinn's gaze boring into her, burning her skin and suffocating her far more than cuddling at the beginning of summer ever could. "Then I would say don't cheat...on her," she whispered.

Quinn just sort of nodded her head until her gaze dropped down to the bed sheets. She picked at them aimlessly then asked, or stated, in a rather flat tone of voice, "I thought you were gay."

Rachel shrugged. "Everyone does."

Quinn leaned forward even more as her eyebrows bunched in confusion as if she had miscalculated something in the past week and a half. "Have you never been with a woman before, then?"

Scrunching her nose in offense, Rachel's entire face tightened. "My second year at a performing arts school is nearly over, Quinn. It's almost insulting that you asked me that."

Quinn's laugh was raucous as she tilted her head back, and Rachel lazily dragged her eyes up her throat. The startling sound teetered off into a giggle, and she turned to lean on one elbow to angle her body toward Rachel. "Have you always liked women?"

The very question was one Rachel had asked herself many times now since her first girlfriend of two months freshman year. Her name had been Kelly and she had since graduated, but would always be the one who opened doors for opportunities such as this one: a gorgeous blonde in her bed who looked more than remotely interested.

"I had never had the opportunity to be with one until last year," Rachel admitted. "I had a boyfriend in high school during the whole 'sexual awakening' phase, so I could never really try new things. Even if I could, I grew up in a conservative town, so it would have been difficult. Besides, pretty girls like you never looked twice at me."

Quinn ducked her head to pluck at Rachel's bed sheets and hide the small blush burning her face. "But you like girls now?" she mumbled.

Rachel stared down at the gentle slope of Quinn's breasts under her dress down to her hips twisted into her sheets. "They…stimulate me," Rachel answered.

Quinn looked up to find Rachel staring directly at her. Her eyebrow lifted, faintly. "How?"

"Mentally." She swallowed, then murmured, "Physically."

Quinn just smiled, thinly, and leaned back down into Rachel's bed.

Rachel stared at her through heavy eyelids for a long moment. "My bed is going to smell like you."

Quinn arched an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"

It was a rhetorical question, because they both knew the answer.

* * *

Millicent walked into the room with her bag from her weekend dance class slung across her shoulder, a bland expression on her face. "Kurt is coming."

Rachel guessed from Millicent's lack luster statement that Kurt was at about a ten on the enthusiasm scale while Millicent had crashed into a one after dancing for two straight hours. She was snappiest when tired.

Rachel had just enough time to school her features into a smile instead of a scowl of impatience before Kurt burst through the doorway and marched over toward her.

He was out of breath, and only managed to wheeze, "It's Sunday."

Nodding, Rachel scooted back on her bed to allot him a place to sit. "I know what today is." She reached for her phone that Kurt had sat on and yanked it out from under him to check the time. "Quinn is supposed to be coming over soon." Worriedly, her gaze ran from Millicent waddling over to her closet at a snail's pace to change clothes to Kurt bouncing in front of her. "And I don't mean to be rude, but I can't talk long."

Kurt's eyes lit up at the mention of Quinn. "_Good_, she can help our cause."

Rachel recoiled in suspicion. "What cause?"

"As you know, Burger Town has recently come out to take a strong stance opposing same-sex marriage."

Instantly, Rachel nodded in understanding. It was a topic she and Kurt had discussed many times before, as Kurt had been an avid fan of waffle fries. A topic that she and her fathers spent hours on the phone discussing until Rachel was hoarse with outrage and indignity that a food chain of all things would openly make such a claim.

"Well, last week a group of students in California held a peaceful protest outside of Burger Town, in which gays and supporters of the cause stood outside of Burger Town and basically made-out with the same sex all day," he continued. "Girls kissing girls, guys kissing guys—it was hot; there're pictures. And a few students here are thinking of doing the same thing at the Burger Town down the block."

The idea made her eyes shine and adrenaline pump through her veins. It was a brilliant, masterful way to convey that straight and gay couples weren't so different, that all everyone, regardless of sexuality, wanted at the end of the day was to love and be loved in return. "What time is this happening?"

"All day!" he exclaimed. "Come on, if we go now we can watch the skinny, emo actors make-out." He tugged on her arm and Rachel stood, though pulled back to stare down at her phone.

"Quinn is supposed to be here soon," she explained. Her eyebrows slanted with the dilemma that faced her, but when she looked toward the door, Quinn was already stepping inside with a light knock.

Quinn looked around to everyone in the room, and her mouth began to twist in suspicion at the unfamiliarity. "Did I come at a bad time?" She somehow managed to make her tone accusatory though she was asking a question, and Rachel winced.

"No, not at all," Rachel reassured as she stepped toward her. She stopped halfway and awkwardly gestured back into the room. "This is Kurt, my best friend. Kurt, this is—"

"I already know who she is, Rachel." He sauntered forward across the room and offered his hand with a toothy smile. "Kurt Hummel. I love your father."

Quinn stole her hand back almost as quickly as she extended it with a tight smile. "Great."

From over by the closet was faint fumbling sounds before Millicent stepped out in a bra and a pair of leggings. "Hi, Quinn, I'm Millie. Nice to finally meet this sweet ass Rachel's been bragging about."

Rachel gawked at her in reproach. "_Millicent_ _Reed_, will you _please_—"

"Yeah, yeah, 'put a shirt on,'" Millicent sighed before stepping back into the closet. "Keep your vagina on, will you?"

Quinn scrunched up her nose.

"I'm really sorry," Rachel apologized with a stiff shake of her head. "This must be the worst possible introduction you've ever been a part of."

Quinn looked around to all of them then slowly replied with, "I've had worse."

Millicent walked out of the closet, now donned in a loose fitting cotton shirt. She grabbed her cell phone and keys from her bed, then bid Rachel, Quinn, and Kurt goodbye before walking out of the room.

Rachel cleared her throat. One down, one to go. "Well, Kurt, isn't there somewhere you have to be?"

"Uh-huh. In fact there's somewhere all three of us need to be." There was a dark twinkle in his eye that unnerved Rachel.

Her lips evened out into a line as she glared at him. "Actually, no. Quinn and I are spending the day here."

Rachel and Kurt stared at each other for a long moment, then Kurt turned to Quinn.

"So, Quinn, there's this—"

"Kurt, _no—_"

"—protest happening just down the block at Burger Town. It's a peaceful one in which everyone's just there smooching on whoever shares their nether-bits in support of same-sex marriage."

Quinn blinked at the description. She took a step back then turned to Rachel. "Do you know anything about this?"

Rachel's shoulders drooped in mortification, worried that Kurt had made Quinn uncomfortable. "Burger Town isn't exactly a supporter of gay marriage, and same-sex couples or straight allies are rallying there right now, kissing each other in order to show their outrage, protest the establishment, and, most importantly, convey the message that same-sex love is in no way harmful or threatening." She heaved a cautious breath as she watched Quinn's lips purse in thought.

When whole seconds ticked by in silence, Rachel finally cracked under the pressure. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Quinn. Kurt just wants more people to show support, which is fine. But, well, today was supposed to just be about us anyway, and it can be just like yesterday when we—"

At the mention of the words _us_ and _we_, Quinn's gaze shot up, sharp, critical as she mapped Rachel's face.

"I'll go."

* * *

Pride had never looked quite like this back in Lima, Ohio. Then again, pride in Lima was nothing but winning football games and which father on the street had the biggest backyard for cookouts.

This was beautiful, and kind of made Rachel want to cry to just witness. It was nearly impossible to navigate through the throng of bodies, and once she had finally gotten sick of Rachel getting shoved to one side, Quinn squeezed her hand and jerked Rachel back before leading the way, shouldering past everyone with a deep scowl if they even thought to turn around and object.

Now that she didn't have to lead, Rachel was free to openly gawk at the overall atmosphere. It was a positive one, carefree in a way that she had never seen before. _This_ was why she loved New York. It was the place that was going to turn her into a star, but it was also the place where she could, for the first time in her life, be the weirdo, overly enthusiastic theater junkie without anyone making fun of her. She felt normal here, as if she belonged. And not only that she belonged, but that there were people here just like her.

She felt long fingers flex around hers before Quinn came to a stop. Rachel looked up at Quinn scoping their surroundings. She didn't look like she fit in with her rigid posture and expensive dress, pinched features. Rachel tugged on her hand and Quinn glanced down at her. "Are you okay?"

"This is weird," Quinn admitted. She took her bottom lip between her teeth then looked to the couple next to them. They were two women dressed in leather. A short one with short blonde hair and a taller brunette grinning. She caught Quinn's eye then winked before leaning down to kiss the other woman and Quinn quickly looked away. She took a deep breath to will the blush from her cheeks. "I'm supposed to kiss you, correct?"

Rachel licked her lips as if prepping herself even as she said, "You don't _really_ have to kiss me. T-the fact that you're here supporting is enough."

Quinn looked to the pair kissing heavily beside her then stepped forward into Rachel's personal space. She squeezed Rachel's fingers and placed her unoccupied hand behind her own back, balling it into an anxious fist. "Would you want me to?"

She had completely eclipsed the sun, but that was okay because her smile, that was honestly almost a grimace, shaky with nerves, was even brighter to Rachel and so much more beautiful. Tentatively, Rachel placed a hand on Quinn's waist and stepped forward. "I would," she admitted.

Quinn tensed as she felt a heavy hand press into her shoulder. She looked up to find the brunette from moments ago staring down at her. "You girlfriends or supporters?"

Quinn's jaw tightened, and Rachel observed the two of them before she stepped forward to offer a reply. "We're just supporters of the cause," she answered. "For now."

The woman smiled knowingly at Rachel's response as she glanced down at their joined hands. The smile on her face gentled. "I see."

The other woman, who Rachel presumed to be her girlfriend, wrapped a hand around the brunette's waist and gestured to Rachel and Quinn. "You're supporters—show support."

The brunette nudged her girlfriend. "Society pressures them enough. Leave them alone."

Quinn shifted uncomfortably as the pair began to quietly squabble. "Actually, we were going to," she finally spoke up in a clear voice among the crowd.

Rachel swallowed, stomach fluttering with butterflies. This felt a lot like performing and excitement buzzed through her just the same. She squeezed Quinn's fingers in reassurance and also as a silent plea that they would go through with this because the longer she stared at Quinn's confident profile and the downturn of her pouty lips, the more she wanted them.

The blonde gestured toward Rachel. "Do it." Her eyes glittered in challenge. "Or I will. One of us has to show support."

Rachel was two seconds away from protesting the idea, because, among other things, the woman before her was so not her type. But Quinn took a threatening step forward to shield Rachel from green eyes. Rachel could barely hear what Quinn had to say to the woman, but rubbed her thumb across the back of her hand anyway. "Hey, this is supposed to be a peaceful atmosphere," Rachel informed them while glaring at the couple before them.

The brunette wrapped an arm around the blonde's shoulders with an apologetic smile. "You're right. Forgive this one; she just really gets passionate about the cause."

Rachel accepted the apology and tugged on Quinn's hand to garner her attention once more. Quinn turned toward her and Rachel seized her other hand to ground her. Her lips quirked teasingly, attempting to distract Quinn. "Had I have known you were the boisterous type, I would have taken you to a march instead."

Quinn clucked her tongue, then muttered, "She started it."

"She did." Rachel's hand dropped from Quinn's own to once again mold against her waist. She smoothed down Quinn's dress along her stomach then took a step closer and tilted her head upward. "How many people get to say that their first kiss was for a good cause at a peaceful demonstration?"

The invitation was obvious and Quinn swallowed at the sight of Rachel's lips tempting her with every word they parted to form, daring her to feel for herself just how soft they were. She lifted her gaze from Rachel to her surroundings once more to find that she didn't see any of her bodyguards. They were all here, had probably gotten lost in the crowd.

Her father would be so pissed.

Quinn sighed and squeezed Rachel's fingers for dear life as she leaned forward.

She had no idea what she was doing here, and felt it showed.

Rachel's arm slid smoothly along Quinn's back to draw her closer as their lips met with hesitance on Quinn's part and eagerness on Rachel's own. She untangled her fingers to re-tangle them in the scruff of hair at the back of Quinn's neck as she met warm lips without an agenda in mind, a soft press that burned through her, and Rachel had to keep telling herself this was for a purpose, a cause.

But it wasn't easy to remember that when it was obvious that Quinn knew what to do with her mouth. She made Rachel feel every press of her lips down in the pit of her stomach that churned with heat.

But this was still for a cause, and a first kiss, after all.

And slipping Quinn her tongue probably wouldn't go over too well, despite the fact that Rachel fully believed Quinn would know just what to do with it.

Quinn inhaled a shaky breath through her nose and fused her lips against Rachel's once more as she wrapped an arm around Rachel's waist and jerked her closer with the adrenaline pumping through her veins. It made her feel hot, made her bold, and made her place her other hand on Rachel's hip where she squeezed until Rachel gasped and moaned into her mouth.

Two things she was aware of were that this felt different, _good_ different, and that she had never felt so liberated.

Two things she wasn't aware of were the proud smiles of the blonde and brunette couple to her side, and that a keen photographer among the crowd knew exactly who she was and eagerly snapped a photo, _the_ photo that would be paying his rent for three full months.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: **America, She's Beautiful

**Pairing: **Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry

**Rating: **PG-13

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

**Summary: **AU. She walked in with long curly blonde hair, hands clasped behind her back, and a red smile, and all Rachel wanted to know was why large, burly men were following her everywhere. | She walked in to find an ordinary brunette to strike up an argument with, and all Quinn cared about was that Rachel hadn't the slightest clue who she was.

* * *

Rachel fisted her hand into the thin cloth of Quinn's dress and tugged her closer. Her mouth slid hotly over Quinn's as her back collided with her closet door. The audible slap of Quinn's hands against the door on either side of her head made her moan as Quinn pulled back to bump their foreheads together. Quinn nearly went cross eyed from trying to make eye contact with Rachel from this angle before she stopped caring all together and tilted her head to kiss her.

"Uh-uh," Rachel breathed with a playful smile as she turned away from questing lips. "The kissing earlier was for a cause."

Quinn smirked, a cocky smile that made Rachel's stomach clench. She grabbed handfuls of Rachel's waist and tugged her closer. Her eyes were predatory as she glared down at Rachel, and Rachel felt her heart stutter for a second. "You couldn't even keep your hands off me the whole ride back."

A pretty blush painted along Rachel's nose. She swallowed and searched for a response. "Residual effects of the cause." Her breath hitched as Quinn leaned closer to nuzzle her nose along the flush across her cheek. It was oddly affectionate, something she wouldn't have expected from the rigid president's daughter.

Quinn nosed a trail to the corner of Rachel's mouth and breathed, "What about all the moaning you were doing?"

"Also cause-worthy," Rachel whispered. Her brow furrowed in frustration that she was only causing herself when Quinn pecked her top lip.

Quinn's eyes darkened as she dragged them from Rachel's lips to her eyes. "And the sounds you would make if I were to kiss you right now?"

Rachel gripped the back of Quinn's neck in anticipation. "Pure unadulterated pleasure on my part," she admitted.

Quinn moaned and tipped her head down enough to kiss Rachel hard. They knocked back into the door once more, and Rachel kept a firm grip around the back of Quinn's neck when she felt Quinn attempt to squirm away to inquire about her well-being.

She pulled back enough to allow, "I'm fine," to tumble from her lips before she fused them with Quinn's.

The sure way Quinn's hands molded to her hips was a pleasant surprise, and something Rachel hadn't been expecting considering she had decided long ago that she was probably the first woman Quinn had ever experienced.

Her fingers ghosted along the column of Quinn's throat as she rose up on the tip of her toes to trace her tongue along Quinn's upper lip. Rachel reveled in the small hitch in Quinn's breathing before her tongue was enveloped in a warm mouth that made her squirm against the door to even think about.

Long fingers flexed along the contours of Rachel's stomach as the grip around her tightened. Quinn stepped closer until she could feel Rachel breathe against her, uneven breaths that made Rachel's chest expand into Quinn's. Rachel's hands were sloppy as they winded through Quinn's hair, and she smiled teasingly when Quinn grunted in disapproval. Greedy hands pulled at blonde strands to keep Quinn in place as she nibbled on Rachel's lower lip. She bit and pulled on it, and Rachel groaned.

A faint buzzing tickled Rachel's ankle. She twisted her foot alongside the sensation, only to feel Quinn's bare calf brush her own. A breath shuddered out of her as she curled her leg around Quinn's and drew it higher, collapsing further into the door and bringing Quinn impossibly closer. The slight weight against her made Rachel moan.

Quinn ignored the buzzing in favor of stroking her tongue along the roof of Rachel's mouth. It produced a throaty sound that vibrated Rachel's throat and knocked between Quinn's legs. She did it again, and again until the faint rocking of Rachel's hips rustled her dress, among other things.

The next thing either of them heard was a thundering knock on Rachel's door. Rachel nearly jumped out of her skin with a squeak as Quinn pulled away with balled up lips. She lifted her leg, the same leg that Rachel had her own wrapped around just seconds prior and produced a cell phone from the inside of her boot.

All the while Rachel watched her with wide eyes. "That's what was vibrating," she uttered thickly.

Quinn tilted her head in answer and walked toward the door. Her lips drew into a pout as she sighed in frustration and walked her fingers through her hair in an attempt to control the damage Rachel had done.

The oddity of Quinn answering _her_ door was lost on Rachel who felt nonplussed and unsure about what was happening.

It was predictable to Quinn who was on the other side of the door, and she opened it with a bland expression that bordered on irritation.

Standing in front of her were all four of her bodyguards, none of whom bothered to hide their own irritation.

Peter, who was less gun shy than her other bodyguards, especially Greg, all but growled, "Did you not hear my phone call?"

He was a just two inches shy of Greg's height with a thick neck and big, veiny hands, clipped hair that made his jawline and overall face appear even more severe.

Still, Quinn had never had a problem facing him head-on. Her own jawline grew more defined with clenched teeth that bit out clipped words. "Clearly I didn't, otherwise I would have answered."

Rachel unglued herself from the closet door and crept closer to peek around Quinn's tense shoulder to the four men on the other side of the door.

Peter took in her disheveled appearance and the blush across her face, and threw his hands up in exasperation. "Are you kidding me?" he hissed. "Do you want to get us all in trouble?"

"What I _want_ is a little privacy," Quinn snapped back.

Greg cleared his throat before Peter could rebuff her statement. He shouldered forward a step toward Quinn. "Your father would like to see you."

"What for?"

His eyes slid to Rachel, pinched in mistrust, before he looked to Quinn again. "It'd probably be best if you talked to him about it."

Quinn went silent. She stared at all four of them for a long moment then sighed in frustration. "Fine. I'll be out in a minute."

Then she slammed the door in their faces.

Rachel cleared her throat and stepped back to allot Quinn space. Her arms folded across her middle in unease. "I suppose you have to go," she prompted in a miniscule voice.

Quinn pivoted to stare down at Rachel in silence. Her hand rose in uncertainty borne of their interruption. The tips of her fingers brushed Rachel's cheek. It was soft and pliant, like Rachel felt herself to be at the moment. "I'll call you." The words sounded stiff on Quinn's tongue and Rachel didn't know whether to laugh or gnaw her lip off in apprehension.

"You should," Rachel informed her before taking her bottom lip between her teeth to gnaw off in apprehension.

Quinn's eyes flashed at the challenge, and she smiled a feral grin. She tugged on Rachel's chin until her bottom lip popped free, glistening and red, and Quinn kissed it deeply.

* * *

The house was quiet.

Quinn closed the door behind her, and her bodyguards scattered to their own corners of the world. Quinn grabbed the tail of Greg's shirt before he was able to escape and tugged. When he turned to face her, her eyes had narrowed to slits. "What have you all told him?" Quinn demanded.

Greg didn't much care for her tone and it showed in the thin line his mouth pressed into. "We're your guards, Quinn. Our job is to keep an eye on you and report back to your father if and when he asks."

"_What_ have you told him?" she repeated in a gravely quiet voice.

"That you made a friend at some dinky coffee shop and you've been hanging out and sightseeing with her." He arched a daring eyebrow. "What is there to tell?"

Her jaw shifted back and forth in annoyance as she sized Greg up. Quinn folded her arms across her chest. "I'm done with this conversation."

He shrugged and walked off through the house.

Once she was sure his presence was gone, Quinn traveled through the foreign house with alert eyes, unable to gather her jumbled thoughts. She wondered if her bodyguards had finally fessed up to her father just what she had been up to the past two weeks. She wondered if they even really knew anything at all. And she wondered if her father knew about her attending the demonstration at Burger Town.

Her blood ran hot through her veins and she felt feverish with the possibility of confrontation. She stopped at what had become her father's study down the hallway and placed her ear against the door.

Nostalgia began to tickle her brain. She felt like a child again, creeping on her father to see if he was busy because she wanted him to take her to the park like he had promised.

She heard muffled voices on the other side, tense and clipped words that she couldn't quite make out. Curious, Quinn stood to her full height and rolled her shoulders back before twisting the doorknob and walking inside.

There were three people in the room: Russell, his campaign manager, Victor, and some unknown man whom Quinn had never met before.

Russell stood from where she had been leaning over the table to address the young man sitting in a chair. "Quinn." His voice was cold with annoyance. "Join us."

Quinn stepped back. "I'd rather not."

He leveled her with a glare. "This concerns you."

With a sigh, Quinn reluctantly closed the door behind her. The heel of her boots clacked onto the hardwood floors until they reached the tan rug in the center of the room. She shot Victor a look before standing on her father's side of the long rectangular table. "What is it?" She glanced down at the manila folder on the table then back up at her father.

Russell flipped open the folder with a flick of his wrist to reveal what was inside.

Quinn looked down to the small stack of black and white photos staring up at her. They were all the same, copy after copy of her hands around Rachel's waist, Rachel's hands in her hair, Quinn kissing her in a sea of people indifferent to their love because their love wasn't so different. A sea of people that seemed so far away now that she was standing in her father's office staring down at herself just hours ago.

"What is this?" Russell snarled suddenly, impatient with her silence.

Quinn's stomach bottomed out at the tone of his voice. She took a deep breath to find her own, but couldn't quite meet his eyes as she responded. "What's it look like?"

Russell stepped closer and pitched his voice lower. "Don't test me, Quinn Fabray."

Quinn balled her hands into fists. She took deep breaths to keep from vomiting and met her father's gaze. "It's exactly what it looks like," she mumbled.

Russell's lower lip quivered in his ire. "I see." He swiveled around as if dismissing her to engage the young man across the table who had taken the photos.

Quinn stepped back and turned to walk away.

"Stay," Russell instructed. "This is your mess. You stay while we find a way to handle it."

Quinn clenched her teeth and slid into the seat next to her father. She folded her hands in her lap and glowered at the man across the table.

Victor paced the floor on the other side of the table, whether he was using an intimidation tactic or not, Quinn didn't know.

Russell fished out a checkbook from the pocket of his black slacks with a grunt. He produced a pen from the pocket of his pressed shirt and noisily placed both on the table. "How much?"

The man sat forward and placed eager, money hungry hands on the table. "I want ten thousand."

"Done."

His eyebrows shot up and he ran his hands through his hair. "Whoa, it's that easy? Okay, I want thirty thousand."

Russell stopped writing to glare across the table. "You can't do that."

Quinn leaned back in her seat. "This would all be easier if you just came out as a supporter of gay marriage," she grumbled.

Russell ignored her. "I'll give you twenty-five thousand, and _that's_ _it_."

The man's eyes were alight with the happiness of a payoff. "Done."

Russell started on a new check. "Who do I make this out to?"

"Jacob Ben Israel."

The check was practically ripped from its book before Russell thrust it across the table into Jacob's face.

Jacob marveled at the 0's staring back at him. "Is this real life?" he whispered to himself.

Quinn scowled as Russell stood from his seat to address Victor.

"I'll draw up the clause right away," Victor spoke up as if reading his thoughts.

"I want every photo he has and the flash drive he probably left more copies on. If he even _speaks_ about my daughter and a photograph in the same sentence, I want him silenced and sued for every penny I gave him and then some."

"Of course." Victor cleared his throat pointedly until Jacob glanced over at him. "A word, sir."

Jacob held fast to the check in his hand and stumbled out of his seat to follow Victor out of the room.

Quinn rose from her seat and gripped the back of her chair. She twisted the toe of her boot into the rug and bit her lip. "I didn't know I'd be photographed," she said in a chastened-soft voice.

Russell rubbed at the scruff on his chin with a scoff. "Do you not know who you are?"

"Yes, but—"

"You're not as inconspicuous as you perceive yourself to be, Quinn."

Her mouth audibly clacked shut to silence whatever retort was on the tip of her tongue. "I guess not," she eventually mumbled.

Russell pinched the bridge of his nose. "If that kid even utters a word—" He sighed out a frustrated growl, shot Quinn a look, and walked out of the room.

* * *

Judy's eyes were critical as they passed over everyone at the dinner table. Russell had said nothing all dinner except to compliment Judy's mashed potatoes, and Quinn's face was practically in her meal by this point. Frannie casted the occasional glance to her, even nudged her once, but Quinn hadn't spoken a word.

"How was everyone's day?" Judy cordially asked.

Frannie grinned. "Ashton and I went to the Central Park Zoo today." Her exuberance bothered Quinn. But she didn't really have the heart to tell her sister to shut up, so she casually angled her body away and forked through her cold peas.

Ashton was Frannie's boyfriend, a nice New England boy she had met nearly two years ago while helping Quinn move into her dorm at Yale. He was a year younger than Frannie, but a Yale graduate, which meant their father couldn't have been more proud.

Russell perked up in his chair at the mention of Ashton, and Judy smiled. "That's wonderful, Frannie. Why didn't he join us for dinner?"

Frannie dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "He has family to visit that'll tie him up for the next few days. Then he'll come over for family dinner."

Quinn sank further into her seat with a morose scowl. She hadn't brought anyone over for family dinners in nearly three years. It was her very last boyfriend, a blonde who played football and wasn't too bright, but was very respectful of the physical boundaries Quinn had placed on their relationship.

Her parents loved him, just as they loved Frannie's boyfriend. They loved just about any boy either daughter would bring around, and Quinn furrowed blonde eyebrows in thought of how her parents would react if she popped up one day with a girlfriend to bring to dinner.

Rachel would probably hate it here, though. Quinn rested her elbow on the table and placed her chin in her hand as she narrowed her eyes across the table at her parents. She saw her parents as too rigid for a loudmouth, spirited person like Rachel. Her parents were stifling beings, whereas Rachel was this butterfly who even Quinn couldn't contain.

Not that she wanted to.

Quinn found she liked Rachel best when she was just out of reach, because catching her was always a thrill.

"How was your day, Quinn?"

Her head had wandered into the clouds. The familiar annoyed crinkle in her forehead presented itself as she placed her hands back in her lap once more. "Fine."

Russell sucked his teeth. "Q had a great day, apparently. She was photographed out and about."

Judy smiled indulgently. "Glad to see that you're getting over your shyness of the shutterbug."

"Yeah," Russell grunted. "Real great, real great. She was photographed at a gay demonstration, actually. Kissing a woman."

Quinn sucked in a breath and dropped her fork on her plate.

Frannie blinked in muted shock. She eyeballed everyone at the table before folding her arms across her chest and leaning back in her seat to separate herself.

"I don't understand…" Judy eventually murmured once she came to from her stupor.

Russell reached into his pocket. "Don't worry, I have pictures."

"Dad, don't." Quinn dragged her tongue along her lower lip nervously.

Russell ground out, "Don't be shy now, Quinn. You certainly didn't appear shy in the photo," then placed his arms on the table in an aggressive stance.

"Why would you kiss another woman?" Judy asked in a dazed voice.

It seemed to be the million dollar question, because Quinn and Russell stopped bickering the moment it was asked. Russell leaned back in his seat as if he wasn't prepared for the answer, and Quinn clasped her hands together and wedged them between her thighs, a demure tick she had carried into young adulthood.

"I don't think it's that big of a mystery," Quinn ventured, with hesitance.

Russell shook his head to himself. "Of all the things…"

Quinn cut him a sharp look. "Don't act as if you're surprised." She scanned everyone at the table with bright, piercing eyes. "No one should be surprised."

"This must be a recent development," Russell asserted. "That's the only explanation; you've been such a good girl your entire life." His eyebrows bunched together in confusion as his mind worked backward. "The only thing you've done recently—aside from that photograph—is drop out of Yale—"

"To attend an all-girl liberal arts school?" Quinn arched a challenging eyebrow.

Frannie huffed out a quiet laugh.

"You've had _boyfriends_!" Judy exclaimed with shaking hands waving through the air. They rose and lowered in indecision as if all she wanted to do was rip her hair out in confusion. "How can you go from that to-to—"

"To what?" Quinn dared her to answer, but Judy's mouth crumbled shut.

"I agree with your mother," Russell's stern voice interrupted. He placed his elbows on the table and cut his eyes to Quinn. "You've had boyfriends all your life."

Quinn scoffed. "'All my life' was a total of three years I've spent dating," she stipulated. "Since then I haven't had a boyfriend in three years."

"You brought them to our house—"

"Barely. I rarely talked about them unless you brought them up and wouldn't leave me alone until I complimented whatever guy I was dating."

Russell frowned deeply and muttered, "I just assumed you weren't that interested in them because you weren't quite at that stage of maturity where boys interested you."

"Yeah, well, I'm twenty now, dad," Quinn told him. Acid dripped from her voice defensively as she told him, "And boys still fail to interest me. I think it's safe to assume I'll never be interested in them."

He gritted his teeth. "Lose the attitude. Parents don't just come _knowing_ the signs of a gay child, Quinn, or how to deal with one."

"Yeah, well, you have one, dad," she responded. Her voice had grown meek and all she could push up her throat was, "Okay?"

Frannie lifted her hand as if to tag herself into the scuffle. "I think all of us had some…idea of _this_, whether anyone wanted to admit it or not." She met everyone's eyes. "This isn't a surprise. The picture, maybe, but certainly not the content of it. Quinn hasn't brought a boy home in years, and never speaks about being interested in one."

Russell stood from his seat. He grabbed his plate and glass of now room temperature scotch. Jaw tense, he looked from his oldest to his youngest with a stern downturn of his lips. "Just—don't screw this election up for me, Quinn. That's all I'm asking of you right now. Be more discreet if you insist on…living the life you've chosen."

"I didn't choose it," Quinn murmured as he bypassed her toward the kitchen without a backwards glance.

Judy cleared her throat and noisily scooted her chair backward to stand. "I'll go wash the dishes," she said quietly.

There was only Frannie and Quinn left to listen to the sounds of tense, muffled voices masked by dish water rushing from the faucet in the kitchen.

Frannie studied her sister's profile for a moment, then tugged on a lock of her hair until Quinn glanced over at her. "Well, that went well. Let's go watch a movie."

"Well?" Quinn snorted. "You think that went _well_? They didn't _say_ anything!"

Frannie scooted closer to rub her back until Quinn deflated back into her seat. "Look at it this way: they didn't kick you out to live on the street or anything."

"Only because it'd be a huge scandal for dad," Quinn mumbled. She scrubbed at her reddening eyes, and turned away to keep her sister from seeing her cry.

Frannie grabbed her shoulder. "Come here, Little Q," she murmured. She scooted her chair closer and enveloped Quinn in a hug. "You know how this family works, Quinn. We don't like change and we're slow to adjust when faced with it. Give them time."

Quinn shuddered in Frannie's arms. Tears clung stupidly to her eyelashes and she growled in frustration. "They shouldn't _need_ time to accept their own daughter."

"No, they shouldn't," Frannie readily agreed. "But they do, and that's not something we can change." She kissed the top of her sister's head. "Stop worrying about them. Be proud of yourself. Okay? You just did something that so many people can't do, and live in fear of doing every single day."

Quinn nodded in recognition of what she had done and shrugged all at once with that little pout on her face that she never admitted to that her sister thought was adorable.

"Let's just put this to bed for now. You did what you felt you had to do, and the ball is in their court now, not yours. So let that weight lift from your shoulders and watch a movie with me."

Quinn grabbed Frannie's forearm and lifted her head from her shoulder to look at her. "Okay," she whispered.

The corners of Frannie's mouth curled up. "I heard lesbians like that _Imagine Me & You_ movie."

Quinn felt her cheeks burn in mortification and she whipped back to cup them while glaring at her sister. "_Francine!_"

"Kidding," Frannie sing-songed as she grabbed for Quinn's hand to tug her upstairs.

* * *

Quinn could tell Rachel had a passion for the stage. In the dimly lit room of NYADA's auditorium, Rachel's eyes still shinned and glued themselves to the play before them. She was on the very edge of her seat, gripping armrests on both sides of her, so Quinn only had one, which she would gripe to Rachel about later.

It was the only time in two weeks Quinn had known Rachel to be silent. She hadn't uttered a word in nearly two hours and shushed Quinn the second she asked where the restroom was.

Here in the theater, in front of a play, was a completely different side of Rachel, one Quinn was unused to yet intrigued by. She was interested in talking to this Rachel. She wanted to crawl inside her head and pick apart her thoughts all while Rachel watched the play unfold.

For now, though, Quinn kind of just watched her, discreetly from the corner of her eyes, because Rachel would lick her lips ever so often as if watching theater geeks deliver lines just made her wet—which was—

Nice.

It was nice.

Just…that.

"What did you think of the play?" Rachel asked afterward once they were outside the theater, breathless as if she had run a mile or had mind blowing sex.

Quinn slowed her stride as Rachel fell in step beside her. She looped her arm through Quinn's, and Quinn glanced up and around to the people around them.

Rachel stiffened when she felt Quinn's entire body seize. She dropped their point of contact and looked up at Quinn. "You're not really out, are you?"

The pretty features she was growing fond of seeing everyday pinched in agitation as Quinn searched for an appropriate response. Her hands curled and uncurled into fists at her side, and Rachel smiled in sympathy. "It's okay. We can just go to my room." She tilted her head in the direction of her dorm. "Come on."

Quinn did another quick scan of her surroundings as Rachel began to walk ahead and reached out and snagged her hand. It was warm and soft and tightened reflexively even as Rachel was unsure of what any of this meant. "Quinn, you don't have to—"

"I've never been one for the stage," Quinn spoke up in reference to Rachel's earlier question as she took a step forward. "I prefer film."

Rachel licked her lips. She liked confidence and seemed to find it in spades in this woman. But it was the little moments of uncertainty that endeared Quinn to her above all else. Deciding she could play along, Rachel scoffed and twisted her hips to bump against Quinn as they fell in step with each other. "Are you one of those snobs who just _have_ to differentiate between what's a movie and what's a film?"

"All I'm saying is that _Pretty in Pink_—while a good movie—wasn't a _film_."

A squeal of complete indignity shot from Rachel's throat, and Quinn laughed in pleasant surprise at the sound. "That's a great movie!"

"Yeah, _movie_ being the operative word here."

Rachel pushed out her lower lip. "_I_ liked it."

"Hey, look, I'm on your side," Quinn cajoled in a saccharine voice that really wasn't sweet at all. "_Pretty in Pink_ was fantastic. It just happened to be a movie."

Rachel tugged on Quinn's arm to pull her to a stop right outside her dorm. She dropped her hand to grasp Quinn's and allowed them to dangle by their sides. "Well, Little Miss Snooty, what would you consider a film?"

Quinn shrugged and tilted her head as she pretended to think. "Something like _Love_ _Me_ _Tonight_ would—"

"Oh, _of_ _course_," Rachel droned sarcastically.

Quinn squinted down at her, and stepped closer. "Don't act as if I haven't seen it on your lower shelf of DVDs."

Rachel plucked at a button on Quinn's dress resting on her lower abdomen. Her smile was coy as she looked up at Quinn through her eyelashes. "You should come in and watch it with me."

* * *

It was sticky hot in Rachel's room. The kind of day that made Quinn wonder just when Rachel's last day of school was, because she saw heat stroke in her future.

"Oh, I'm not going home for the summer," Rachel answered off-handedly as they each committed to their own side of the narrow bed—Quinn's orders.

Quinn wheezed out a breath in the hot room that, okay, may have been a _little_ dramatic. "Why?"

Rachel scratched at the back of her thigh, and the bed shifted underneath them from her contortions. It almost made Quinn giggle, the novelty of sharing a bed with someone. The last and only person she shared a bed with was Frannie when they were younger and Quinn was too afraid of the dark to sleep in her own room.

"It costs a fortune to be here, and I need to keep working my job at the coffee shop to help my fathers pay my tuition. So I've decided to stay."

Quinn steepled her fingers together and placed her hands on her stomach. "That's a very adult decision to make," she conceded. "Still, I hope they at least put you up in a dorm with air conditioning for the summer."

Rachel's lips quirked into a smile. "They will." She turned her head to face Quinn. "I'm hoping for more pretty blondes with deep pockets to frequent the coffee shop this summer."

The comment piqued Quinn's interest, and she sat up a little on the bed, voice strained from her new position, or possibly from Rachel's comment. "Would you be interested in other pretty blondes frequenting the coffee shop?"

Rachel sank further into the pillow below her head as she stared up at the pair of stormy hazel eyes boring into her own. "I would only be interested in one pretty blonde frequenting my establishment."

For some reason, Quinn blushed, and Rachel giggled and leaned up on her elbows while Quinn was distracted to kiss her on the nose. "I happen to like you," Rachel whispered the secret against her lips.

"You'd better," Quinn growled, willing her blush to dissipate.

"Well, I would hope so. I don't just go around kissing anyone."

"You liar."

Rachel's jaw dropped. "I'm not lying."

"Good, you better not be."

Her lips pulled into a coy smile as she leaned closer to Quinn. "And if I was?"

"Then I would have to lock you in your room and the only people besides me you'd see would be that funny looking gay kid and your crass roommate."

Rachel tipped her head back with an obnoxious laugh. "Their names are _Kurt_ and _Millicent_."

Quinn trailed a languorous path down Rachel's throat with her eyes. "Minor details," she hummed.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Obviously." She dragged her eyes down to find Quinn watching her with heavy lidded eyes. "See something you like?" Something that New York had taught Rachel that Lima hadn't was what general interest from a woman looked like. And to see that look on Quinn's face, directed at _her_ of all people made her body flush.

She toyed with the collar of Quinn's dress then moved her lips along the column of her throat.

Quinn hummed again for a completely different reason now. "It's too hot for that."

"It's never too hot to kiss a beautiful girl," Rachel mumbled into her.

"My boiling skin begs to differ," Quinn argued for argument's sake even as she tilted her head to give Rachel more ground to cover.

She wondered when he had become the girl who could be fed easy lines instead of the pragmatic tightwad who gave guys a hard time in high school.

Her hand found Rachel's thigh easily, the skin toned and silky smooth. Quinn caressed her with a careful thumb and surprised her own self when it brushed the rougher fabric of a dreadful plaid skirt.

Rachel panted into the thick air around them then bit Quinn's collarbone. She felt Quinn twitch around her, and tore her mouth away completely to return to her own side of the bed—an inch away, if that. "You may have been right. It's really hot."

Quinn pressed her thighs together and slumped back against the bed with a sigh. "You decided that now?" She sat up with a huff and climbed over Rachel.

Rachel raised her eyebrows in surprise and placed a hand low on Quinn's hip to 'assist' her off the bed. "Are you leaving?"

"No." Quinn shot her a look then turned to stretch what felt like liquefied legs. She busied herself around the room, and Rachel sat up along the bed, drew her legs up to her chest and watched her with captivated eyes.

"What are you looking for?"

"Water," Quinn answered when she spotted a small black refrigerator in the corner of the room. Cool air burst out of the now open door to splash against her chest, and goose bumps prickled happily along her skin.

The refrigerator was packed from corner to corner with food, not that Quinn was surprised. Rachel had stocked up enough for a New York winter even though it was spring. "No eggs?" she prompted, only half joking.

"Vegan."

It was rumbling, the refrigerator, and Quinn hadn't heard her correctly. She swiped up her bottle of water and stood to face Rachel, kicking the fridge door closed. "Excuse me?"

Rachel tossed her legs over the edge of the bed to dangle them from where she sat. Her feet didn't quite reach the floor, but she ignored that most days. "I'm a vegan."

Quinn rolled her eyes to the ceiling as she took a sip of her drink. She felt it slither down her insides and shivered as she walked toward Rachel. "Don't tell me you're just like those girls from high school who decided to go vegan because it was the hip new thing to say and made them skinny, even though most of them were just fat cows."

When Quinn was within touching distance, Rachel crooked a finger under the hem of her dress to draw her closer. She simpered, indulgently, and rocked her neck a little with a smug retort. "_Actually_, I'm a vegan because I refuse to eat animals or animal byproducts." She carried a haughty air around her as most vegans Quinn had known tended to do.

Quinn smirked.

"So if I came here tomorrow with a fur coat—"

"I'd burn it," Rachel shot back.

Quinn's jaw dropped in indignation before her lips curled down. "That's rude."

Rachel's lower lip jutted out as she stood to envelop Quinn in a hug. "Aww, baby, we can buy you a nice faux-fur coat that'll look just like a real one."

Quinn ignored the way her stomach fluttered. "Ha-ha," she replied dryly. She looped an arm around Rachel's shoulders in a halfhearted hug and took another sip of her water. That was when she got a devilish idea that made horns sprout from her head.

"_Quinn_!" Rachel yelped just a few seconds later. Her back was arched in protest of the ice cold water seeping into her shirt all the way down her spine. She could barely move and shivered a little under the dual assault of the cold water and hot room.

Quinn's mouth was gaping in her own humor over the situation. She bit her lip to stifle a smile and nodded to herself as she informed Rachel, "Baby, I think you're all wet."

"Immature," Rachel muttered with a shake of her head. "You are incredibly immature."

Quinn leaned lower to be eye level. "Are you upset?"

In a split second blitzkreig attack, Rachel lunged forward to rip the bottle from Quinn's hand. Quinn had just enough time to turn her head away before Rachel poured the remainder of the bottle down the front of her dress.

A breathy gasp tore from the back of Quinn's throat as her back bowed in reaction to the cold water seeping into the thin material of her dress. Her breath hitched. "Okay, what I did was a joke. But this was just plain _childish_," she croaked out.

Rachel's lips were pursed into a smug smile as she made a show of dropping the empty bottle onto the floor. "Don't mess with me, Fabray. I'm known to win everything."

"You're cleaning that up," Quinn told her.

Rachel shrugged and placed her hands on her hips as she surveyed the damage done. She walked her eyes up to Quinn's dress to find a pink bra staring back at her through the fabric, and doubled over in laughter.

Quinn pinked a shade dark her than her bra. Her hands curled into fists at her side before she lunged for Rachel.

"Quinn, _no_!"

Before Rachel could even move, Quinn had wrapped both arms around her neck and smashed the length of their bodies together. Rachel shivered and tried to slip away, but Quinn only stepped closer until Rachel's knees bent and they were tumbling to her bed. She felt warm lips brush against her neck and shivered for a completely different reason as her head tipped back. "We are _so_ over," Rachel panted.

Quinn chuckled into her neck. "Just beginning, actually."


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: **America, She's Beautiful

**Pairing: **Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry

**Rating: **PG-13

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

**Summary: **AU. She walked in with long curly blonde hair, hands clasped behind her back, and a red smile, and all Rachel wanted to know was why large, burly men were following her everywhere. | She walked in to find an ordinary brunette to strike up an argument with, and all Quinn cared about was that Rachel hadn't the slightest clue who she was.

**A/N:** Hello there! Sorry for the delay in updating. Real life's kind of swept me off my feet and I've been in love ever since. Here's the new chapter and I'm hoping the next will be here much quicker. Thank you for your reviews; they are always appreciated. Enjoy!

* * *

Rachel hadn't felt like this since high school, so giddy and light. There was an innocence to her feelings for Quinn, which were growing exponentially by the day, that she wanted to protect. She nurtured them daily with enthusiastic phone calls traded between the two, whispered words against Quinn's collarbone, flowery lyrics from her favorite songs, and the occasional dirty text that Quinn only sometimes indulged.

With each passing day she could feel the permanence of her own feelings begin to set in like bricks stacking one on top of another in her heart until it felt full and weighty with ever evolving infatuation.

Millicent took one look at her and rolled her eyes. "Gross," she groaned as she shoved a condom into her overnight bag.

There had been a grin on Rachel's face, the kind of stupid grin reserved only for fools in love. She straightened in front of her desk, the duster she had been cleaning with hang limp in her hand as she turned to fully face her roommate. She eyed the black duffle bag being slung over Millicent's shoulder knowingly. "Indeed."

Millicent flashed a roguish grin. "Don't wait up."

Rachel's lips curved upward. "I never do."

"I'm sure Quinn will come by to keep you company."

Their twin smiles were still in place as Millicent strolled to the door. Rachel tipped her head in a touché motion and wiggled delicate fingers to wave goodbye to her roommate.

The finality of the door closing left her with her own feelings that began to spread warmth throughout the room in the form of her faint humming as she continued to dust her desk clean.

"It's been a while…" Rachel mumbled to herself with a curve to her lips.

* * *

"I'm out to my parents."

Rachel's fingers stilled in silky blonde hair.

She could sense the gravity of Quinn's statement, felt her very scalp prickle with unease. Rotating her fingers, she gripped Quinn's hair like the lover she wanted to be for her, and tugged Quinn higher on the pillow until their gazes met. "How did that go?"

Quinn's entire expression grew pinched in indecision at how to best respond. "It didn't?"

A huff of breath blew past Rachel's lips, half a laugh. "Not too well then?"

Quinn shrugged a bare shoulder, her entire body shifting in her blue floral print summer dress. "It could have been worse," she quoted Frannie.

She didn't know how to proceed and thus, didn't. If it was one thing New York taught her former self it was that not every problem could be solved with a sing-along. Sometimes all a person needed was the warm reassurance of someone else just _being_ there. And thus her fingers kick-started again, sifting through Quinn's hair with whispered promises that everything would be okay.

"Just know that my bed is always open should you ever need a place to stay," she felt compelled to offer somewhat selfishly.

Quinn's low chuckle blew goose bumps across her neck. "I'm sure it is."

Rachel blushed.

* * *

Her blinds were drawn shut and the black drapes she had ordered for vacation hung ominously from her tall windows.

Quinn lay atop her bed, feeling much like a spring day despite her dreary bedroom. It was like phone tag, texting Rachel. They responded so quickly to one another that Quinn never went more than a few seconds without her phone vibrating against the palm of her hand.

_What are you going to do to me when you get here?_

A quiver racked her body without her consent. Though former celibacy club president and life-long good girl, the innuendo of the text wasn't lost on Quinn. Neither were the heated gazes Rachel had been feeding her the past few days, heavy lidded eyes flittering across her body before meeting her eyes again, full lips glistening from a wet tongue. Quinn knew what Rachel wanted, but she doubted her own capabilities of being able to give it to her.

"Quinnie?"

The phone slipped from her grasp and Quinn grappled with her bed sheets to retrieve it. Her eyes were wide as they met her mother's across the room. "Hi."

Judy's smile was tentative as she shut the door behind her. She moved with delicate steps until she was resting beside Quinn on the bed. Her smile turned pensive as she eyed her daughter sitting up to face her. She fidgeted with the hem of her apron in indecision. "Dinner's ready."

She watched the light in Quinn's bright eyes dull into listlessness. "Okay."

Judy licked her lips in nervousness. Her fidgeting grew more pronounced until Quinn dipped her gaze lower to her mother's nimble fingers scratching at the cloth of her apron. Quinn drew her lip between her teeth, waiting.

Judy sighed and met her eyes directly. "Is it because your father and I got divorced? Is that why you're gay?"

She could feel the beginnings of anger and defiance curl in the pit of her stomach almost immediately. Her jaw grew even more defined as her teeth clenched, eyebrows slanting. With pinched features Quinn declared, "My sexuality isn't being used as a way to get back at you and dad for your crappy marriage, mom." Her voice had grown more acidic with each word, and she sat back on her haunches to gain a sense of clarity. "I can't believe you'd even suggest that."

"I just don't understand," Judy shot back in a shaky voice, "how my beautiful baby girl can be a lesbian."

"_I_ don't understand," Quinn practically shouted. Her phone vibrated against her hand and she clenched it tighter, fire blazing in her eyes.

Judy's lips stiffened. Quinn rarely raised her voice, but when she did, it usually meant one should back off. She parted her lips enough to sigh, then her eyes hardened. "I think this is just a phase." She gestured toward Quinn. "You said yourself you don't understand."

"I don't understand _why_ I like girls," Quinn stipulated with narrow eyes. She was used to her parents' manipulation by now and knew a tactic when she heard one. "Why does anyone like anyone else?" she challenged with shaky hands. Her spine tingled with dread, and she glanced away from her mother's scrutinizing eyes.

She could see weariness begin to sit on Judy's shoulders and a part of Quinn felt remorse for how much her sexuality bothered her mother. She cleared her throat and sat back. "Sorry," she whispered.

Judy opened her mouth to respond when Quinn's phone rang. The sound was jarring as was the vibration in her hand and Quinn flipped it over to find a college friend calling. Judy watched as Quinn placed the phone against her ear. "Hello?" When Quinn failed to make eye contact for seconds on end, Judy stood from the bed.

Quinn held her breath until she heard her bedroom door close. She sighed in relief. "Santana."

"Took you long enough," a gruff voice grumbled on the other end of the phone. Santana was a fellow student at the small, private liberal arts school Quinn had fallen in love with. An out and proud lipstick lesbian who loved chasing skirts, Quinn had grown to admire her once loud-mouthed enemy turned best friend who had spent the better part of a year dealing with Quinn being a closet case.

Quinn felt herself smile before she could stop it. "Long time no talk. How's school?"

"Don't even get me started," Santana griped. "I can't seem to do anything right around that Brittany girl, and if I have to see those sad, puppy dog eyes one more time…"

She trailed off in a frustrated growl, and Quinn smiled mockingly. Brittany was Santana's latest conquest, though who conquered who was debatable.

"Tell me something good, Q. Damn it, you know I'm in the dumps if I have to rely on someone like you to have good news."

"Well, umm…I came out to my family," Quinn whispered fervently. She knew if anyone in the world would be ecstatic about her stepping out of the closet it'd be Santana.

"About _damn_ _time_!" The excitement in Santana's voice couldn't be denied, and Quinn smiled just a little wider, sat up a little straighter. "Now all we gotta do is get you back to school in the fall and shack you up with a few easy-pickings freshmen."

Quinn licked her lips. "Actually," she interjected, "I kind of already have someone in mind."

"Who? Lemme see her, Q, because if your taste in women is anything like your taste in men then we've got some work to do."

Quinn scoffed, eyebrows knitting together as she briefly contemplated hanging up the phone. "I have great taste," she defended.

"Sure, Q," was Santana's noncommittal reply. "Anyway who's this girl who made enough of an impression on you to get you to finally come out to your parents?"

The question stunned Quinn into silence. She had never thought of it that way. Her sexuality had been a well kept secret for years now. It had been something she guarded and protected in fear of ridicule from her family and possible disownment.

Yet in the span of a couple of weeks she had met someone, Rachel, who in reality changed her whole life, made her feel freer and cared for, for reasons other than her status and the fact that she was just as much of a political pawn as her father.

In the whirlwind that was this past two weeks it had never occurred to her that Rachel had already made such an impact.

"Quinn? Hey, _Quinn_?"

She rubbed at her face. "What is it, Santana?"

"Don't 'what is it' me? I'm dying over here!"

"Rachel." Her very name sent Quinn into a tailspin of catastrophic proportions. She cleared her throat to keep it steady and tried again. "Her name is Rachel. I met her here in New York."

"Sounds like a peasant name," Santana griped under her breath. "What's she look like?"

Quinn shrugged, almost shyly. "Short. Dark hair. Big nose, _hideous_ fashion sense."

"Shit, Q, you sound like one of those grade school boys who has a crush on the quiet chick, but picks on her because he has no idea what to do about it."

She flushed at the comment, tugging on the collar of her dress. "I do not," she could barely grit out due to mortification.

"So you've gone gaga over some New Yorker. Been there, done that, read a romance novel about it. The real question on the table is if you've boned her yet."

Quinn frowned in disapproval. "Must you always be so crude?"

"It's a simple question, Q."

"No, I haven't had sex with her yet. She isn't the sleazy girls you date, okay? She likes to be courted."

"Wanting sex doesn't make a girl sleazy, Q. What century did you grow up in?" Santana challenged. "I see I still have some work to do with you, young one."

Quinn scoffed. "Whatever."

"So what's she do?"

Pride swelled inside of Quinn almost immediately. "Get this: she's a student at NYADA."

"That fancy-schmancy arts school?" Santana whistled. "Not bad, Q, not bad."

"She's a theater major, but works part time at a coffee shop to pick up extra money."

"Huh, so she is a peasant. At what point do you turn into a total creep and slide her a hundred dollar bill after work and whisper to her, 'you don't have to do this for a living' before you whisk her away to your life of luxury?"

The teasing lilt of her voice coupled with the memory that Quinn _did_ happen to leave Rachel a large, bragging tip upon first meeting her made Quinn's face burn. "I'm not like that!" she shouted.

"Uh-huh," Santana replied noncommittally. "How're your parents taking all of this anyway?"

The question made Quinn think back to a few months ago when Santana had told her about her own coming out story. Her entire family had taken it pretty rough, and stopped speaking to her for a while. It felt like disownment, except her family was a pretty tight knit group, so even though they viewed Santana as a walking, breathing scandal, she wasn't kicked out of the house for it. Though it did take some time for her family to start speaking to her again.

Quinn reasoned her coming out story wasn't as bad. Her family was still talking to her, though they now viewed her as a foreign entity, not someone they had spent years with. They hadn't kicked her out, but Quinn was almost positive it was only because her father's political platform would crumble if the media caught news of his youngest daughter living on the streets. The Bible, surprisingly, wasn't being shoved down her throat. But she suspected it was because her father had become too much of an immoral politician and no longer had room to judge anyone when the poverty rate was as high as it was and he wasn't implementing a single policy to fix it.

All in all, "Not too bad," she hummed, reflective. "I mean, don't get me wrong, it wasn't like I got some party or a pat on the back for a good deed, but—"

"Not too bad," Santana echoed as if she understood.

Quinn nodded, more so to herself. "Yeah."

* * *

It was a warm spring night, and Quinn strolled down the busy New York sidewalk in a peach dress and a navy cardigan. Greg, her only bodyguard for the night, was just a pace and a half behind. The hair on the back of his neck prickled in newfound awareness since he was the sole person responsible for Quinn's overall comfort and safety.

Quinn seemed uncaring, however, as she winded through the throng of people. There was a bar on the very corner with a tilted, flickering sign that simply said _The Song_. Quinn unfolded her fist to produce her phone with a text message of directions from Rachel. The name and location in the text matched the bar in front of her.

She slipped inside without protest with the help of the sheet of solid muscle standing behind her. The air was thick with cigarettes and bad pick-up lines. Quinn squinted to see in the dim lighting and fog. There were rows of round tables in front of a large stage across the room. The bar was filled with winos tipping off their chairs and Quinn steered clear of them all as she walked past the bar.

"Next up is our regular crooner: Rachel Berry!"

Quinn's head snapped up to the stage to find a pot-bellied man with a bowtie walking off. Then, lo and behold, Rachel Berry sauntered onto the stage with a large grin on her face. Quinn was hesitant for all of a second before she began to gravitate toward the stage.

She glowered at the occupied first row before she slid into an unoccupied seat in the middle of the second row of tables. Rachel's eyes were alight, bright with spirit, Quinn noted with a smirk. How Rachel had managed to drink was beyond her, but she reasoned this was one of those 'anything goes' bars that New York was famous for.

"Good evening, everyone. My name is Rachel Berry, and I will be singing a personal favorite of mine tonight." Rachel's eyes danced around the admittedly small crowd of rough-looking people to find a diamond in the rough, shining brightly at her. Her grin grew impossibly wider and her grip around the microphone tightened as she bounced on her feet in nervous energy. "Umm, actually, I think I'd prefer to sing a different song."

Quinn arched an eyebrow as Rachel stared at her as if she were the only person in the bar.

The smile on Rachel's face dimmed the barest hint as she told the crowd, "I'd actually love to perform _Hello_ by Lionel Ritchie, if that's okay."

The crowd roared and hollered, happy for any form of musical entertainment. Rachel's grin began anew as she tossed her hair over her shoulder flirtatiously and faced the piano man.

Quinn licked her lips.

"Tony? Can you play me in?" Rachel asked. He nodded and Rachel returned her attention to the crowd. As soon as the first note touched their ears, nearly everyone stood from the table to grab a partner. They ventured out to the open floor behind the tables and began to dance as Rachel crooned out an almost haunting tale about longing and being in love.

Quinn felt shiver after shiver roll down her spine at the powerful sound of Rachel's voice. She had heard Rachel hum lyrics here and there, but she never heard her fully belt a tune the way she was now. Quinn darted from her table to the front row halfway through the song and stared directly up at her.

Though there were others in the room, it was clear who Rachel was singing to. Swept away by the magic that often accompanied singing, the two glasses of wine she had indulged in, and Quinn's uncharacteristically enamored eyes shining up at her. She was normally so guarded that such an expression never dared to cross her face. But here in a bar with cheap drinks and dim lighting, Quinn looked at her so lovingly that Rachel could feel her insides melt in that sickeningly sweet high school-ish way.

The song ended and Quinn stood slowly to applaud her. Rachel curtsied and stuck out her hand for Quinn to take. She hopped from the stage and flung her arms around Quinn's waist with excited energy. "Did you like it?" she breathed into Quinn's neck.

Quinn could feel the buzzing tension within Rachel and rubbed her shoulders for a moment before enveloping her in a hug. "You were so wonderful," she murmured. She felt her bodyguard's uneasy posture behind her almost immediately.

Rachel felt her cheeks tingle with a blush and buried herself further into Quinn. "Thank you." She was used to compliments, often expected them, but something about affecting someone as ineffable as Quinn made her shy. She felt a kiss to her temple and blushed all the more before pulling back with a smile. "You enjoyed yourself then?"

"Rachel, Rachel, you did it again."

Rachel swiveled around in Quinn's tightening arms to find the owner of the bar. Glenn sauntered toward her with a warm smile and a bottle of wine. He gave it to Rachel with a wink. "Something for your troubles. You always get a crowd going with that voice of yours."

Rachel beamed proudly at him and accepted the bottle with a playful twinkle in her eye. "It's always a pleasure, Mr. Franks." She reveled in Quinn's arms flexing around her possessively, and tossed one more smile to Glenn before returning her attention to Quinn once more.

Bottle firm in her grip, Rachel snaked her other hand down Quinn's arm, leaving goose bumps in her wake, before Quinn stepped back a respectable distance. "Ready to go?"

* * *

"Who was that guy?"

Rachel hummed pleasantly to herself in the wake of Quinn's barely contained possessive nature. It pleased her on so many levels.

"And why is he feeding you alcohol? Doesn't he know you're only twenty?"

She paused from pouring a glass of wine to face Quinn fully. "Do you not want a glass then?"

It was then that Quinn took a step back to survey the situation. Her eyes traveled up the expanse of Rachel's legs to the skirt of her dress that barely concealed anything. Rachel looked vibrant in a deep purple dress, high off a performance and the minimal alcohol buzzing warmly through her veins. She looked for all the world like a bubbly temptress, and Quinn took a step closer, and closer, and closer still until she was at Rachel's side.

She watched the red wine swirl in the glass held in a precarious grasp. Quinn grabbed the glass, eyed Rachel through heavy eyelids and drew a sip.

Rachel smiled coyly at Quinn's predatory gaze then spun away from her to pour her own glass. "A toast," she cajoled as she sauntered closer.

Quinn leaned back on Rachel's desk just behind her. She could feel the heat crackling between them and leaned back in fear of suffocation. "To?"

Rachel couldn't seem to control herself tonight and ducked her head with a shy murmur. "Us?"

She was often so larger than life that Quinn had yet to become accustomed to these moments of uncertainty and timidity that Rachel could so effortlessly embody.

Swirling her glass, Quinn stood to her full height and stepped closer to Rachel. She tucked the side of her index finger under Rachel's chin and tilted her head until Rachel was facing stern eyes.

Quinn lifted her glass. "To us." Her voice quivered unnoticeably as she choked on the word us, a definition to something that had been undefined for the past several days.

They seemed to be on the same page regarding the solidifying nature of their courtship, and Rachel smiled as she clanged their glasses. "To us," she repeated in a chipper voice.

The fire in her eyes threatened to scorch Quinn, so she leaned back against Rachel's desk once more. "When were you going to tell me your voice was that amazing?"

Her tone of voice sounded accusatory, and Rachel's nose tilted just a bit higher. Confrontation, she could do that. "You know now, don't you?" she shot back with little edge to her voice.

Quinn scrutinized her for a long moment as she drew another sip of her wine. "How long have you been singing at that bar?"

Rachel shrugged a shoulder. "A few months. I didn't make it home for Christmas break because I was working. One night I went out with Kurt, desiring a nice karaoke place, and we found _The Song_."

She swallowed another sip and lapped at a drop by the corner of her mouth. "And the bartender just pays you in alcohol?"

"It's free," Rachel stated. "He doesn't _owe_ me anything for singing in his bar. He just chooses to give me little gifts from time to time."

A thin eyebrow shot up. "And what does he expect in return for these 'little gifts'?"

Rachel tried to keep the surprise from her face as Quinn smoothly polished off the glass of wine. Her lips quirked upward. Little miss innocent wasn't so innocent after all. "It's been my understanding that wine is an acquired taste." Her tone was teasing.

Quinn frowned, refusing to take the bait. She strolled across the room to pour herself another glass then turned back to Rachel. "So this guy—"

"Wants absolutely nothing from me other than to sing in order to bring him a little more business," Rachel answered, turning to face Quinn.

Quinn "hmm'd" around the lip of her glass, puckered her lips and took another sip.

Three quarters of the way through her second glass her eyes began to shine, a vibrant, darkening hazel that landed heavily on Rachel walking closer to her.

And Rachel would have laughed at how much of a lightweight Quinn was proving to be if it wasn't for her constricting vocal cords and hitched breathing. Quinn felt warm to the touch as Rachel slid four fingers up the side of her arm. The barely there twitch in Quinn's arm was her undoing and she looked up in resolution to find Quinn staring intently down at her.

She swallowed, licked her lips. "What time should I be expecting Greg to come knocking?"

Rachel's shaky voice was Quinn's own undoing, and she snaked an arm around Rachel's waist without warning and tugged her closer.

Quinn's mouth was warm, heavy and unrestrained as she prodded at Rachel's mouth with a wet sweep of her tongue that sent Rachel reeling. Rachel stumbled back a step into her roommate's desk on the other side of the room. She grabbed the back of Quinn's skull and tugged on her hair just as she opened her mouth to accept an unrelenting tongue. Rachel's groan reverberated throughout her entire body, and she fidgeted where she stood, pressed against the hard desk digging into her lower back, and Quinn's soft body steadily pressing into her like she wanted something only grown people knew how to ask for.

It felt like every nerve ending was coming to life, awakening Rachel from slumber and sending her over the moon, dancing on stars. She heard the muffled clank of a glass hitting wood before sure hands grappled at her waist before wrapping completely around her, cocooning her in lust and something else she dared not to put a label on.

Her vision was blurry when she peeled open heavy lidded eyes to stare at the tiled ceiling above her. Her throat constricted with every well placed kiss on her neck. Quinn's lips, pedal soft, brushed over Rachel's neck as if it were a canvas, painting her with pulsating abandon. She trailed her lips up the side of Rachel's neck then sunk her teeth into pliant flesh.

A strangled noise left Rachel's throat, and she went limp against the desk. Quinn's arms were around her, grounding her before her liquefied legs threatened to give out. Rachel chuckled lowly and grappled for Quinn's shoulders.

"Well…" she mumbled to herself. Her eyes were alight when they met nearly olive green eyes. Rachel clenched her thighs, swallowing thickly as she became aware of just how damp her underwear were.

She swiveled out of Quinn's arms and lifted her hands to the ceiling to stretch her warm, aching bones. "I have an idea!" She seemed to brighten at her own brilliance, and Quinn resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"What?" Quinn reached for the desk behind her and leaned back against it. Her own legs were doing their best impression of Bambi's at the moment, and she didn't want Rachel to notice.

Warm brown eyes glinted in mischief. "Let's play strip poker."

Quinn seemed to gain a moment of clarity even as she took another sip of wine. "Let's not."

Rachel grabbed her hand and cooed in a coaxing manner, "Come _on_, Quinn. Live a little."

"I've lived a lot, and I can live even more without playing strip poker," she replied even as she allowed Rachel to pull her toward the middle of the floor.

Rachel produced a deck of cards from her bed side desk and held them up to Quinn, taunting. "Afraid you're going to lose?"

The change in her demeanor was instant. Her eyebrows knitted in irritation at Rachel's _audacity_ to even _issue_ a challenge. Little did Rachel know, Quinn's father was a longtime gambler for the thrill. There were times, when Quinn was younger, that she would hear her parents fight at night after Russell had suffered a great loss. Judy would fret over whether or not they would have to sell the house, and Russell would growl in frustration at his wounded pride.

Once he began to campaign for presidency, his campaign manager, Victor, insisted that Russell stop his backdoor gambling before it became a huge scandal. After three years in office, Russell was able to pay off everyone who ever dared to rat him out.

Quinn had learned the game, very early on—poker, blackjack, gin. She smiled, cruelly, and tucked her dress underneath her to sit on the wooden floor of Rachel's dorm room. "Deal."

Rachel bit the inside of her cheek as she felt her belly constrict and began to deal out the cards. She picked up her hand once all was said and done and stared at all five cards with a blank face. "Umm, I don't remember the exact rules, so—"

"Why don't we do one round?" Quinn suggested as she aligned her cards. It was more of an intimidation strategy than anything. She peered over her cards at Rachel. "Either you fold your hand or you play it."

Rachel chewed on her lip, distracted by the predatory expression on Quinn's face. She glanced back down at her cards and nodded her head. "One round it is." She smiled a pearly white grin that dimpled her cheek. "And I don't fold."

Quinn's jaw clenched. She eyed Rachel then looked down at her cards. "I don't either."

"Shall we show then?"

Rachel's voice had grown playful, like a cat that had a mouse by the tail, and Quinn could feel her heart palpitate.

How the roles had reversed.

"You first," Quinn replied gruffly.

Rachel shrugged a shoulder and laid her cards down on the floor. "Four of a kind," she announced proudly.

Quinn felt her temple pulsate. She sighed and threw down her cards. "One pair."

Rachel grinned. "An article of clothing please."

Quinn shot her a scornful look. "You're only getting a shoe."

"Soon I'll get everything."

Her voice had dropped a couple of octaves and carried a breathy quality that warmed Quinn's lower belly. She slipped off a wedged heel then shoved her cards to Rachel, ignoring how funny her insides felt. "Deal."

Rachel shoved the entire deck back to her. "It's your turn."

Quinn grabbed them with a scowl. She made quick work of shuffling them and Rachel eyed her hands the entire time. Her fingers were methodical, dexterous as she shuffled the deck of cards over and over, faster and faster without once breaking stride or dropping a card. She had one vein running around the first knuckle of her index finger and Rachel had the oddest urge to lick it.

Quinn quirked an eyebrow as she dealt the cards. She watched Rachel wet her lips with heavy lidded eyes. "Yes?"

Unashamed at her blatant staring, Rachel dragged her eyes from Quinn's hands, up the length of her body until she met her face. "More wine?" Before Quinn could even respond, Rachel had stood and grabbed both glasses.

Her dress swished against a pale shoulder and Quinn turned around to watch the expanse of tan legs as Rachel walked away. The hem of her dress shifted higher with each step she took and darkened hazel eyes covered every new centimeter presented.

She returned with gently sloshing glasses and took her seat directly in front of Quinn. Taking a sip of her wine, Quinn gestured toward Rachel's cards. Rachel picked up the deck and stared at them for a long moment. "I'm not folding," she spoke resolutely.

Quinn hid a smug smile and shrugged. "Same time?"

Rachel's eyes narrowed. "One."

Quinn bit her lip. "Two."

"Three."

Their cards hit the floor with a resounding thwack and Rachel's jaw dropped at the sight of Quinn's hand.

She shot up from the floor in indignation. "A straight flush!" Her cheeks colored in outrage. "You cheated while my back was turned."

Quinn stood from the floor in the name of defending her own honor. "I don't _have_ to cheat. I'm just better." The jaw dropped expression on Rachel's face made Quinn quirk an eyebrow. The power she felt in this moment coursed through her veins and poured with authority from her voice. "Strip."

Rachel shivered.

Her fingers twisted one over another as she melted into the floorboards from the smoldering look Quinn shot her.

"Now, Berry."

Rachel nodded minutely, more so to herself. Mind made up, she reached for the zipper on the side of her dress.

The look that crossed Quinn's face was comical. "What are you doing?"

The power shift in the room was immediate, and Rachel puffed out her chest in pride. It had taken her years to be proud of her body, to flaunt her sexuality like a second skin, and it was paying off largely in this moment. The only sound in the room was her zipper being pried apart tooth by tooth.

Quinn's breath hitched at the sliver of tan skin that teased her vision. "Rachel…"

Rachel had never quite heard Quinn sound this way before. Her voice was low and breathy, like she was commanding Rachel to keep her dress on and begging her to take it off all at once. It was exhilarating; it thrilled her that she could reduce Quinn to this.

She tugged at a shoulder strap and slipped it off, then the other. Her dress pooled to her feet and only then did she think this may not have been a good idea. Maybe they had been moving too fast. Maybe Quinn wasn't ready for this. Maybe they would both regret this in the morning. She took one step forward. "Quinn."

As if her very name unfroze her, Quinn stepped to Rachel like a longtime lover coming home. Her lips were suddenly on Rachel, more demanding than they had ever been before, petulant, taking what she rightfully assumed was hers. Her hands were more certain as they landed heavily on Rachel's hips, cocooned around her. One wrapped around the back of Rachel's shoulder while the other settled warmly on the small of her back. Rachel completely and unquestionably melted into her.

Neither was aware of how long they had been kissing or when they had made it to the bed until the backs of Rachel's knees touched cotton sheets. They tumbled on top of one another onto the twin-sized bed with ease. A labored breath whooshed out of Quinn in realization of just what position she had found herself in with a mostly naked Rachel wearing nothing but a lacy black thong.

She rose up on her haunches to stare down into Rachel's heavy lidded eyes. Quinn didn't dare allow her eyes to venture downward, far too respectful and too aware of how objectification women face on a day to day basis.

Rachel giggled, halfway to shy but too aroused to fully make it. "You can look, Quinn."

Quinn's eyes grew impossibly wide at the remark. Her heart pounded beneath her breast, chest heaving with each breath. "Why?"

The fire immediately died in Rachel's eyes and she brought her arms to cover her chest. "Well, you certainly don't have to if you don't want to…"

Her body went on autopilot and before Quinn knew anything, she was grabbing Rachel's wrists and placing them above her head with ease. She swallowed hard at the new position they were in, and Rachel's breath quickened.

She sat perched atop Rachel, thighs on either side of her hips. Never in her life had she been in this position with another girl and an unfamiliar pull tugged low in her belly. She squirmed, resting herself against Rachel's stomach.

The gasp that tore from Rachel's throat made Quinn clench. Rachel could feel her, she knew. Could feel how wet she was becoming just from sitting astride her, from the sight of Rachel's modest, naked chest heaving with each breath in her peripheral.

Quinn eased her grip around Rachel's wrists but kept her pinned exactly where she was. "No, I—" She cleared her throat in surprise. Her voice had never sounded quite like this before. "I want to," she explained, licking her lips. She had never wanted something this badly before. Like ripping a band-aid off, Quinn's eyes flew down to Rachel's chest. Two gentle swells rose and fell with each breath Rachel took; dark areolas and pert nipples swam in Quinn's hungry eyes.

"You can-you can touch them, if you want to," Rachel whispered, all false vibrato lost. The most beautiful girl she had ever seen was perched atop her like a majestic animal waiting to devour. All pretenses were gone and she knew it. At this point Quinn could have whatever she wanted, and a very specific part of Rachel was waiting to be had. She squirmed as her slick underwear became more and more apparent to her, and Quinn's gaze shot up to her. Her bottom lip was taken between her teeth in uncertainty, and Rachel had to crack a smile if only to relieve some of Quinn's apprehension.

She wiggled her wrist and looked at Quinn in question. "May I?"

Quinn leaned down on her forearm to use her left hand to release its hold on a thin wrist. Rachel promptly grabbed Quinn's hand and led it to her chest. The palm of a warm hand covering Rachel's breast made her eyes flutter as her stiff nipple dug into pliant flesh.

"Quinn, I'm going to be perfectly honest—" Her sentence was cut short by an abrupt gasp when Quinn squeezed her breast like she owned it. Rachel shuddered, and Quinn grinned, sharp and feral as she thought to herself that maybe she could do this.

"I want you," Rachel continued through a moan, arching into Quinn's hand. "And I think you want me, too."

"I do," Quinn rushed out in a breath. She had the grace to blush and buried herself in Rachel's neck, biting her lip to keep from saying anything else stupid.

It was quiet for a long moment, a moment of deliberation for them both. Quinn slid her fingers along the soft weight of Rachel's breast, then circled a nipple with the pad of her thumb. It was all Rachel could take, the final nail in the coffin. "Take me," she whispered, voice strong despite how gelatinous she felt.


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: **America, She's Beautiful

**Pairing: **Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry

**Rating: **PG-13

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

**Summary: **AU. She walked in with long curly blonde hair, hands clasped behind her back, and a red smile, and all Rachel wanted to know was why large, burly men were following her everywhere. | She walked in to find an ordinary brunette to strike up an argument with, and all Quinn cared about was that Rachel hadn't the slightest clue who she was.

* * *

There was something about Rachel that made Quinn want to make promises she didn't really know how to keep. Lying there, tucked into her side was Rachel, in the most blissful slumber Quinn had ever seen.

She seemed much more vulnerable in this position. Her big mouth, which made up ninety-eight percent of her defense, was finally shut as she breathed soundlessly through her nose. The only indication that she was even breathing was the gentle rise and fall of her back that Quinn couldn't seem to help but caress. Nothing had ever felt this smooth before. Not the scruff on a boy's face that was unavoidable every time Quinn had kissed one. Not the callous hands that would anchor on her hips and remain firmly planted because Quinn _wasn't_ one of those girls.

Except, she had been one of those girls last night.

And just maybe…she had been one of those girls all along.

She just needed the right person, the right _gender_ for starters.

But now that she had found the right gender, the right person, Quinn showed no signs of letting Rachel go, had been holding her all night. Rachel was a proponent of cuddling, especially after receiving an orgasm, which always made her feel emotionally attached to the giver—something Quinn wasn't too surprised in finding out.

What she was surprised in finding out was that there was a learning curve when it came to lesbian sex. High school had taught her that it was nearly impossible for the boys there to please her. But passing comments mumbled under their breaths that they had been too frightened to say aloud to her had taught Quinn that maybe she was frigid and incapable of feeling pleasure. Never had it taught her that maybe…she was just different.

Different like Rachel, but no less capable of receiving pleasure. It had taken Quinn the better part of an hour once she had finally reached between Rachel's legs to find out what it took to make her tic. But it wasn't without fine coaching on Rachel's part, an eager and vocal bedmate who was neither afraid to praise Quinn's efforts, or scold them.

To Quinn's surprise, she didn't shy away when it turned out Rachel didn't like this or that. Instead, the pleading lilt to Rachel's voice only made her want to work harder until she could give Rachel the pleasure she needed.

When it came her time, Quinn was sure Rachel's best efforts wouldn't pay off. She was frigid. She couldn't feel. Yet the second Rachel settled between her legs and stuck out her tongue, Quinn felt her thighs tremble.

It didn't take long.

And afterward Quinn wanted to personally yell, _"In your face!"_ to every boy who had ever called her a frigid bitch under their breaths.

Rachel turned into a cuddle monster afterward, instantly mounting Quinn and sinking into her for a full night's slumber. Now, several hours later, Quinn was now awake, finding herself in the same position they had fallen asleep in.

Quinn stared down at Rachel's body half draped atop her. They contrasted physically the way Quinn felt they contrasted as individuals. Even still, they were beautiful, compatible.

She felt Rachel stir when her fingers brushed a sensitive spot on her lower back. Rachel twitched and released a small sigh as her legs stretched under the blankets to intertwine with Quinn's. The back of her hand swiped over her left eye then she rotated to rub her palm over her right eye. Vision bleary, Rachel blinked several times to gain focus before she looked down at the angel resting below her.

Quinn's face was predictably impassive as she stared up at Rachel, both waiting for the other to make a move. After a few seconds, Rachel sat up in the bed, and wrapped the blankets around her, leaving none for Quinn who seemed to shrivel under the scrutiny of half lidded brown eyes. A plump lower lip was bitten in apprehension. "I'm sorry—have you been holding me all night?" Rachel spoke in lieu of a good morning. Her voice was scratchy and low, foreign to Quinn's ears, though just as pleasant as Rachel's normal speaking voice.

She watched as Rachel's eyes roamed around in her skull as if she were in the throes of a seizure. Quinn shushed her own hectic thoughts that inquired the whereabouts of her dress due to her discomfort toward her nudity as she watched Rachel begin to come apart at the seams. The sheet was pulled tighter around her frame and Rachel swiped her tongue along her lower lip. "I apologize for monopolizing you like that for the entirety of the night." Her throat bobbed with a tight swallow. "I've been told that I can be, well…_clingy_. And it's been my understanding and experience that clinginess isn't welcomed in a relationship. And well, I-I really, _really_ like you, Quinn," Rachel stressed with pleading eyes. "I sincerely hope that my bed habits haven't sent you running for the hills." She gestured the minimal space between Quinn and the wall on the bed. "Maybe next time I can sleep there to give you the space that I'm sure would be much needed for a person such as yourself."

Quinn craned her neck to glance at the sliver of space Rachel was referring to. Her eyebrow rose. Sure, Rachel was small. But the space she was referring to would likely only befit an infant. She leveled her eyes on Rachel and rose onto her elbows. "A person such as myself?" Quinn mumbled, affronted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Rachel fretted with the sheets and gnawed on a corner of her lower lip. "Aloof, closed off. It's been my experience that—"

"Forget your experience," Quinn barked suddenly.

Rachel's breath hitched at the unexpected intensity that had crept through the backdoor and into Quinn's voice.

"If this _relationship_," Quinn emphasized, arching her other eyebrow and making Rachel blush, "is going to work then you're going to have to forget about your past relationships, because I assure you, I'm nothing like anyone who came before me."

Quinn wore a smug grin by the end of her sentence that made heat settle warm in Rachel's belly. She dropped her gaze and picked at the bed sheet. "I just don't want you to dislike me for being clingy."

"Have I complained so far?"

Rachel shook her head.

Quinn nudged her with her knee and Rachel looked over at her. "Then there's no problem. We're fine."

Rachel grinned down at her before removing the sheet and lying on top of Quinn once more. She planted a kiss on her cheek then snuggled into her, and it occurred to Quinn that Rachel was possibly the most cunning person she had ever met.

Because suddenly they were in a relationship.

And the scariest part of all was that for some reason Quinn didn't even mind.

Her fingers combed through wisps of dark brown hair with languid abandon. As the gears began to turn, her eyes grew distant. This fairytale Quinn had managed to carve out for herself in the unlikeliest of places would come to an end sooner rather than later. Her chest expanded with a sigh deep enough to stir Rachel up onto her elbows until she was staring down at Quinn in concern. "What's wrong?"

Quinn replaced her furrowed brow with a well-practiced plastic smile almost immediately. "Nothing," she murmured in a saccharine voice. Nimble fingers ghosted along Rachel's cheekbone as hazel eyes roamed all along her face. She had never pictured herself in this position—not even after meeting lesbian extraordinaire, Santana—and the novelty emboldened her. Her palm slid over the back of Rachel's neck in an attempt to anchor herself in the moment. "How would you like to have dinner with me…and my family?"

Despite the apprehension tightening her stomach, Rachel's eyes immediately lit up at the fact that Quinn, Quinn _Fabray_ had opened up her life in such a way. Rachel inhaled a deep breath and tried to keep from squealing in excitement. "I'd be honored."

* * *

No one had spoken all dinner. Meal times had always been the core to the Fabray family structure. It was how they maintained what little cohesiveness they had. It was where strategies to better appear a functioning family were discussed, where grades were discussed, family accomplishments, where bad news was swept under the rug and smiles and compliments paid to Judy's cooking were abundant.

Quinn and Russell had thrown off the balance of family dinner a few days ago when they openly brought Quinn's sexuality to the table. Since then Quinn had kept her nose in her plate, Russell had nothing to say to anyone, Frannie was content to keep her mouth shut, and Judy silently fretted every meal over how to restore order.

Frannie was slicing down the middle of her steak, a quirk of hers because looking at a whole one was too intimidating, when Judy zeroed in on her. "Frannie-dear, when is Ashton due to have dinner with us?"

Just as Quinn was sure Judy had predicted, the question made Frannie light up. Her utensils dangled in her grip carelessly in light of her boyfriend being the topic of conversation. "Two days from now, mom," she replied in a chipper voice.

The tension visibly eased in Judy's shoulders as she offered a polite and thankful smile to Frannie. "That sounds lovely."

"And then we'll be leaving soon after that," Russell offered in a gruff voice. He glanced up to make eye contact with Judy and Frannie before leveling his eyes meaningfully on Quinn. "So you'd all better start packing now because we won't be here for much longer."

Quinn brazenly dismissed her father's gaze and forked into the mashed potatoes on her plate.

Frannie bit her lip in anxiety as she looked between her father and sister. Her gaze lingered on Quinn before she turned to Russell. "Where are we going, dad?" she asked in an attempt to cover up Quinn's faux-pas.

Russell, too, eyed Quinn for a long moment before focusing his attention on Frannie. "Overseas, dear. Campaigning isn't just done in one's backyard, you know. "

The remark didn't sit well with Quinn whose gaze shot up to her father across the table to find him already looking at her. Quinn's jaw clenched. "We're leaving the country?"

"I'm blazing a campaign trail, Quinn," Russell replied coolly. "Victor thought it best that I gain some diplomacy and support for the upcoming election, so we're leaving the country in a matter of days." His expression turned grim. "I suggest you make peace with this city, because we won't be here much longer."

Quinn inhaled a harsh breath and held it, casting glances to her side to find her mother and sister eying her. She pushed her plate further onto the table and scooted back her chair. "Excuse me," tumbled softly from her lips as she made her exit from the table.

Three pairs of eyes followed her upstairs.

The room she had spent the past few weeks in had grown to resemble home for her. There was nothing too sentimental about it, no pictures hung on the walls to give it a homey feeling. But it was the place that Quinn had been able to come to when she felt she needed to escape her parents' thinly veiled homophobia, a place where she could text Rachel and talk on the phone with Santana who made it her personal mission to remind Quinn to get some at every turn.

It was currently the place Quinn came to in order to think in peace. The drapes were drawn closed to keep out the setting sun. It was nearly pitch black inside, and Quinn struggled to find her way to the bed. The mattress gave an almost inaudible creak as she sat down on it with a weary sigh.

She wondered if dinners would ever be the same then decided that she didn't care. If she couldn't even discuss her…_girlfriend_ at the dinner table, yet Frannie's boyfriend was welcomed to dinner with enthusiasm and open arms, then Quinn didn't care if dinner was never the same again.

And regardless of what her family wanted, Rachel _would_ be attending a family dinner.

Her attention shifted to the door the second she heard faint knocking. "Who is it?" she demanded.

Frannie's muffled voice greeted her from the other side of the door.

Quinn sighed. "Come in."

The door creaked open to shine light from the hallway into Quinn's room. Frannie flashed a wry smile that went unnoticed in the dark then groped along the wall for the light switch. Quinn either squinted in discomfort at the light or glared holes through Frannie for even existing in that moment. Both were viable options, and Frannie stifled an amused snicker as she closed the door behind her and sauntered to Quinn's bed. She sat down beside Quinn and leaned back on her hands. Her face held a scrutinizing expression. "Sometimes you and dad are the same person."

Quinn growled under her breath and turned away. "If you were hoping to have a civilized conversation you picked a bad way to start one, _Francine_."

Frannie laughed openly then threw her arms around Quinn from behind and tugged her to her chest. "You know I couldn't resist, Little Q."

Quinn huffed, but felt her cheeks burn from the way Frannie was holding her combined with the nickname. She felt like a child again. "Leave me alone, Francine."

Frannie's only response was to pull Quinn even closer. "What's wrong?"

Quinn glowered at the wall above her headboard in defiance. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me." When Quinn remained silent and stone-faced, Frannie prompted, "Is this about Rachel?"

Quinn grimaced as the name tumbled from Frannie's lips, a merging of two worlds that seemed likely to clash more than anything.

"You really like her, don't you?" Frannie's voice was soft and pensive. "I mean, you haven't showed interest in anyone in a very long time, Quinn. And you've never been one for fleeting crushes." It was as if it had dawned on Frannie for the first time that this was something Quinn took seriously. She brushed back a lock of blonde hair and kissed her sister's temple in apology for the way the entire family was treating what was likely a delicate situation for Quinn, and remained a silent ally by her sister's side as Quinn allowed a single tear of frustration and exhaustion fall in secret.

* * *

Rachel chewed on her thumb nail as she stared expectantly at Kurt. "So," she prompted with impatience. "What do you think?"

Kurt hopped up from her bed with a broad smile. "What do I think? What do I _think_? I think you're going into the lion's den!" he exclaimed in excitement. "Can I come?"

Rachel sighed and began pacing all over again. "I'm serious, Kurt. Is this such a good idea? She's the _president's_ daughter."

"Yes, but—"

"_The_ president. Russell Fabray—the man who _openly_ opposes gay marriage." She turned to Kurt with a bemused expression. "Have we forgotten that?"

Kurt deflated at the mention of President Fabray's steadfast stance on gay marriage. "No, I haven't forgotten." His lips compressed. "But, Rachel, the girl is mad about you. Have you forgotten _that_?"

"Kurt, _I'm_ _in love with her_," Rachel stressed in a shaky voice. "Of course I haven't forgotten about that."

Her declaration shocked Kurt into silence. Rachel felt herself shaken to the very core. It had been the first time she had even recognized these feelings and she was embarrassed to have done it so dramatically.

Kurt swallowed audibly. "You what?"

Rachel stared off into the distance to better gauge her internal feelings. She nodded. "My…mortifying outburst aside," she prefaced, "I am." Her eyes were wild, swirling with emotion as she looked up to face Kurt. "I'm in love with her, Kurt."

Though he was still in shock, Kurt wasted no time in slinging his arms around her in a tight hug. "Congratulations on the sex!" he blurted in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Rachel huffed a watery laugh and buried her face into his chest.

"By the way, if you ever tell someone I referenced lesbian sex, I will kill you."

"Kurt's a lesbian—what?" a familiar voice called out.

Kurt leapt back to glare at Millicent as she fished her key out of the door lock.

Rachel wiped at her eyes. "Hi, Millie."

Millicent took one look at Rachel, dropped her duffel by the door and strolled toward her with purpose. As soon as she was within reach, she placed a hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong? Kurt getting squicked out about your scissoring ways again?"

Kurt folded his arms in offense. "I just don't get it, that's all," he grumbled.

Rachel laughed and shook her head. "No, no, it's not that." She sighed in nervousness. "It's just that…I'm in love…with Quinn."

Millicent blinked stormy gray eyes. Then her expression grew lax as she whistled out a breath. "Already?" she teased. "That girl must have something good."

Her tone was suggestive, and Rachel predictably blushed.

"Okay, I can't take much more of this line of talk," Kurt chimed in. "Rachel, get to the good stuff."

Millicent quirked an eyebrow. "There's more?" She walked over to the other side of the room and tucked long legs under her as she sat on the bed. "Spill."

Rachel sat down on her own bed and fidgeted with her hands. "Well, earlier today before she left she also asked me to accompany her to family dinner at her house sometime."

"Holy shit," Millicent whispered to herself. Her eyes widened. "This is big. Tell me you're gonna do it."

Rachel shrugged a shoulder. "I told her I'd be honored, but…should I do it?"

Kurt nodded. "Absolutely!"

"Yes," Millicent declared at the same time. "Think about it, Rachel, you'd be making history."

Rachel shook her head with a demure smile. "I hardly think so."

"This is the family of the man who spearheads our country," Kurt told her. "If you'd be able to just get in there, interact with Quinn a little, and help him see that homosexuality isn't bad, then maybe you could change his mind, _and_ some policies."

"I really think that's a stretch, Kurt," Rachel replied.

Millicent sat up straighter. "Who knows? It could be a stretch, or it could be a possibility. We'll never know if you don't go to dinner with her." She studied Rachel's uneasy posture for a moment then sighed. "Look," she began in a softer voice, "you don't even have to look at it as being a pioneer for change in the LBGTQ community. This doesn't at all have to be that, okay, Rachel? This is a date. This is you meeting Quinn's family and getting to know her on a more personal and intimate level. That's all this has to be."

"But the gay agenda—"

"Can wait," Millicent said as she cut Kurt a sharp look. "For starters, Quinn _just_ stepped out of the closet." She turned to Rachel. "She's feeling this out just as much as you are. And right now the only obligation the two of you have is to each other. Fair enough?"

Rachel exhaled a breath she hadn't even known she was holding. "Let me be clear in saying that I do not mind furthering a political agenda, especially one as close to my own lifestyle as LBGTQ rights." She bit her lip and implored Kurt to understand. "But this is my _first_ dinner with Quinn and her uptight, conservative parents, and I do not want to make a fool of myself by storming in and demanding rights when in reality, all Quinn wanted was for this to be a peaceful dinner."

"Right." Millicent gestured toward her. "Just enjoy the dinner, enjoy Quinn. That's all you have to do. Don't feel obligated to do anything else. Otherwise you're going to just end up making a fool of yourself."

Kurt puffed out a breath and unfolded his arms. "Fine. You don't have to feel obligated to do anything other have a good time, I guess."

"Who knows if I'll even have a good time?" Rachel asked. "This could be the single most mortifying experience of my life."

"Or it could be one of the best experiences of your life with the woman you're in love with," Millicent chimed in.

Kurt sat down on the bed beside Rachel. "There's only one way to find out."

* * *

Quinn draped herself across the bed as Rachel scrambled for a dress to wear. There were currently six thrown over the back of a chair and Rachel combed through each dress to find the perfect one. Thus far she had tried on five of them.

She seemed to be taking this dinner very seriously, and it made Quinn swell with pride. Her hawk-like eyes watched Rachel run around her room to find shoes and accessories when she hadn't even finalized a dress decision yet.

Quinn eyed the navy blue lace panel dress at the bottom of the pile. She hopped up from Rachel's bed and strolled over to the chair to wrestle it from the pile. "Wear this," she instructed in a voice that brooked no room for argument.

Rachel turned around to the dress Quinn was feeling up. She gawked. "Really, that dress is hardly appropriate for this dinner."

Quinn gave herself a once over. "Do you _see_ what I'm wearing?" It was one of her many floral summer dresses. "It's a casual dinner, Rachel, nothing more. Wear the dress."

Rachel power walked across the room to come to a stop in front of Quinn with alarmed eyes. "Quinn, don't you understand? I'm meeting your family," she stressed. "I want—I want to be good enough for them, for you."

Quinn stared down at Rachel with a stern expression. She positively hated this side of Rachel—unsure, insecure, and easily breakable. Her jaw clenched. "Do you honestly think I would have given you the time of day were you not _good_ _enough_, Rachel?"

The comment made Rachel pause, then shoot Quinn a look of exasperation at her inflated ego and sense of importance. But after spending what felt like every waking moment with Quinn over the past two weeks she had come to be able to recognize what tough love looked like from the other woman. And this was one of those moments. Her shoulders slumped in resignation as she skulked closer to Quinn and laid her head on a bare shoulder. "I'm just nervous," she exhaled.

Quinn's eyelashes fluttered as she swallowed a lump down her throat. "It's perfectly fine to be nervous," she assured. "It's not every day that an ordinary citizen gets to meet my father." Her spine straightened. "And it's even rarer as of late that a…suitor of mine gets to meet him."

Rachel pulled back to squint up at Quinn in amusement. "You can just call me your girlfriend, you know. Or your partner."

"I know that," Quinn shot back, color rising in her cheeks. "I just…" she trailed off, biting her lip as her gaze dropped from Rachel's in uncertainty.

"It's new," Rachel supplied in a warm voice though she reveled in this moment. It wasn't every day that Quinn Fabray got shy.

Quinn nodded faintly. "Very."

"We don't have to do this, Quinn," Rachel soothed as she ran the tips of her fingers up and down Quinn's arms. She felt goose bumps rise under her touch and marveled at the fact that she could affect such a proud woman this way. "I don't have to meet your parents."

"I want you to," Quinn piped up. "This—it needs to happen." Her eyes grew earnest as she stared down at Rachel. "Please."

It meant the world to Rachel that Quinn wanted to show her off to her family this badly. Her lips tugged upward into a happy grin. She tugged the blue dress out of Quinn's hand and slid her palm against Quinn's own. "Help me get dressed?"

Quinn's grin was wolfish as she spun Rachel around until she was facing away and tugged her closer. A squeal erupted from Rachel's throat, only to die down when she felt the soft press of Quinn's body behind her. Long fingers lifted the hem of Rachel's blouse to creep underneath and warm, elegant palms splayed out along her abdomen.

Rachel's breath hitched as Quinn scorched a burning trail up her stomach, cupping her breasts and squeezing until Rachel cried out at the torturous feel of her bra scratching against her rock hard nipples like sandpaper.

Quinn continued her trail upward until she was pulling the blouse over Rachel's head. Rachel turned to her then. The sight of her—hair slightly tousled, mouth agape with heaving breaths that made her chest expand dramatically—made Quinn's knees weak for the first time in her life.

"How long do we have?" Rachel breathed in a thick voice.

A strangled noise wedged itself in Quinn's throat. "Long enough," she whispered before grabbing Rachel by her bra straps and tugging her mouth closer.

* * *

Despite their prior apprehension to the meal, Quinn and Rachel stepped out of the car giggling, on a high from post-coital bliss. They were in such a state that Quinn very nearly grabbed Rachel's hand until she remembered that paparazzi liked to lurk around and perform an occasional drive-by. Instead Quinn led Rachel up the driveway to the rental home she and her family had spent the past couple of weeks in.

Rachel gawked at the chandelier in the hallway as they passed through. "Your home is lovely, Quinn."

Quinn snickered at her manners. "It isn't my home."

Rachel only grinned at the charmed smile on Quinn's face. "You're beautiful, you know."

Quinn stopped in her tracks. She dragged her eyes over Rachel's face for signs of sincerity and found it in abundance. "Am I?" She was used to compliments about her physical attributes. But the way Rachel complimented her, as a person and not just her face, made Quinn desperately want to believe.

She felt fingers slide along her own like lock and key until Rachel was holding her hands firmly. "You are. You're so wonderful, Quinn. I hope you know that."

Quinn dropped Rachel's hands and turned away with a shy smile. "Thanks," she murmured.

Rachel leaned up to kiss a flushing cheek. "You're welcome." She gave Quinn a slight push forward. "Now, let's go have dinner with your parents."

Quinn could feel the tension the second she walked into the kitchen and could only hope Rachel didn't feel it, too. The seating arrangement had changed to accommodate Ashton, and all four sets of eyes landed on her as soon as she stepped into the doorway. Rachel took a hesitant step back and closer to Quinn's side.

Frannie peered over Ashton's shoulder to get a good look at Rachel. A ghost of a smile appeared on her face.

Russell made quick work of assessing the situation due to memory of the photo scandal. He sucked his teeth then pressed his lips into a hard line. "Quinn." His tone was cross in displeasure. "You're late."

Quinn shifted from foot to foot. "Sorry. I underestimated how long it would take to get from the other side of town to here."

"You've been making this trip for the past two weeks, have you not?" Russell boldly declared. His eyebrow lifted in challenge. "Shouldn't you know the duration of the route by now?"

"I wanted to take a more scenic route this time, father," Quinn gritted out through clenched teeth. She was already on to his game. "Forgive me."

Silence stretched between them as they stared each other head on.

Judy cleared her throat in the awkward silence and gestured toward the food. "Quinn, dear, come sit down and have a plate. Will your friend be eating with us?"

Right away Rachel's stomach bottomed out. She gripped Quinn's dress by her lower back and whispered, "They had no idea I'd be coming, did they?"

The hand holding her in place maintained a tight grip, and Quinn angled her head to find Rachel staring up at with an unfamiliar expression marring her face. "Had I have told them prior they would have said no," Quinn whispered back.

Rachel said nothing more and sidestepped Quinn to head into the kitchen. "Yes, ma'am, umm, First Lady Fabray—"

"Please, dear, call me misses Fabray," Judy instructed with a faux-cordial smile.

Four years of being frosted out of popularity by two-faced girls had taught Rachel a thing or two about when she was being played. And it was obvious that she had walked in with a greater disadvantage than she had previously thought. The Fabrays weren't just indifferent to her. They didn't _like_ her.

"Have a seat, miss…I do believe I didn't catch your name," Russell told her with remorse dripping from his voice. "Quinn never mentioned meeting anyone here."

Rachel casted a glance over her shoulder to Quinn and only then was Quinn able to recognize the expression on Rachel's face.

Hurt.

Discomfort.

Regret.

Quinn's jaw clenched as she took a step forward. She stood beside Rachel at the table and cleared her throat. "Then allow me to introduce her, father."

Russell's lips curved into a sneer.

Quinn adopted a smug air as she looked down her nose at her father. "This is Rachel Berry—my girlfriend."

Frannie sighed in surprise, blinking rapidly at the woman by Quinn's side.

Russell remained motionless, unsurprised by his youngest daughter's rebellious nature.

Judy cleared her throat and rudely reached across the table for the mashed potatoes in order to give herself something to do.

Ashton appeared the most uncomfortable, visibly fidgeting with his hands under the table. Frannie placed a warm hand atop his and leaned forward in her seat. "It's very nice to meet you, Rachel. Quinn here is a very private person, so the fact that I even knew of you prior to this moment is nothing short of amazing."

Quinn felt her cheeks burn as Rachel looked from Frannie to her then back to Frannie. "Thank you. And you're Francine, correct?"

Frannie flashed a more genuine variation of the Fabray smile. "You can call me Frannie if you'd like."

Rachel smiled at the kindness Quinn's sister was extending her. "Very well then."

Quinn cleared her throat to regain Rachel's attention. She looked at her briefly then pulled out Rachel's chair. "If you'd like to sit…" Quinn mumbled, cheeks flushing anew. Holding out a chair instead of having a chair being held out for her was unfamiliar territory, and something she had never thought about doing until this very moment.

But the shy smile, however brief, Rachel flashed her in gratitude wasn't too bad of a reward if she had to admit.

Only when seated did Rachel notice the food that was on the table. Front and center like a prized possession were slabs of porkchop. The smell assaulted her immediately, and she swallowed down what was likely vomit. She looked over to Quinn in fear.

"What's wrong?" Quinn whispered as she accepted two plates from Frannie.

"I'm a vegan," Rachel whispered back.

"Is there something wrong with your…friend, Quinn?" Russell asked with a mocking tone.

Rachel sunk back in her seat in light of the obvious disapproval in his tone. She had no idea what she had been expecting considering she knew how Quinn's parents felt about homosexuality. But the fact that Quinn hadn't even told her parents she would be attending dinner stung a little as she shifted in her seat in discomfort at Russell scrutinizing her.

"She's a vegan," Quinn spoke up with a hint of guilt lacing her voice. "She can't eat this."

"Well then isn't that a pity?"

Rachel gripped the edge of her seat. "Maybe I should just go."

"No, don't," Quinn mumbled softly. Her eyes were wide with unease as she reached out with shaky fingers to grip Rachel's thigh.

Frannie wiped at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. "I bought fresh lettuce yesterday from the market in case anyone wanted a salad," she chirped in a cheerful voice. "Would you like one, Rachel?" Before Rachel could even respond, Frannie was heading toward the kitchen.

Quinn stood abruptly from her seat. "I can make it for her," she insisted, ignoring the peculiar way Judy was staring at her.

Frannie glanced around at the dinner table then looked at Quinn meaningfully. "No. You stay. I'll make it."

Hating to stand down even to her own sister, Quinn grudgingly returned to her seat. She discreetly placed her hand on Rachel's thigh under the table and gave a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry. It must have slipped my mind."

Rachel placed a hand on top of Quinn's with a small smile. "It's okay, really. I'm sure in your excitement you completely forgot such a minor detail."

Quinn frowned. "It's not a minor detail. It's a large part of your life."

Russell coughed into his fist as he eyed the two of them. Once their attention was on him, he straightened. "Where do you attend school, uh, erm…"

"Rachel," Quinn interjected. "Her name is Rachel."

"Yes, Rachel." Russell quirked an eyebrow. "Where do you attend school, Rachel?"

Rachel perked up at the question and squeezed Quinn's hand. "I attend the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts."

"NYADA," he hummed.

She brightened. "You've heard of it?"

"Of course, dear—a very prestigious academy indeed. What do you plan on doing with your degree?"

Rachel was hyper-aware of Judy to her right staring holes through her, and Quinn just beside her, keenly assessing hers and Russell's conversation. Rachel looked down to see the empty plate in front of Quinn and sighed. "After I graduate I plan to become an actress in theater. I want to be on Broadway." She leaned toward Quinn. "Quinn, eat your food," she whispered.

"Not until you have something to eat," Quinn whispered back.

Russell frowned at the future profession Rachel had chosen for herself. "Isn't that field of work a little…dicey?"

"It can be unpredictable," Rachel said, catching on to his train of thought. "Nothing is guaranteed in the realm of acting. But I'm confident that my talent will lead me to the top."

"How very…ambitious," Judy chimed in with a small laugh.

Rachel turned determined eyes on her. "Very. I've been winning dance competitions since I was in diapers, acting since I learned to talk, and singing since I left my mother's—who has been a very successful Broadway actress—womb. I'm confident that I will make a name for myself one day."

Her miniature rant and confident nature momentarily stunned both Russell and Judy into silence. Russell forked mashed potatoes into his mouth then wiped residue away with his napkin. "Where are you from, Rachel?"

"Lima, Ohio." She grinned.

"Oh, so you're a farm girl?" Judy chortled.

Quinn sneered. "_Mom_."

"I am not, actually," Rachel defended with little malice in her voice. "My fathers and I live in a nice cozy house on the North side."

Russell's head shot up. "Fathers?"

Dark brown eyes widened to saucers as Rachel realized her mistake. Still, she straightened in her seat and scooted forward, never one to be ashamed of her upbringing. "Yes, dads—I have two gay dads who have raised me ever since I was born."

"Well where's your mother, dear?" Judy asked in concern.

"She was really…really passionate about her career," Rachel informed her. A hint of sorrow casted a shadow on her face. "She was hardly ever in my life. However, my fathers have always made sure that I would want for nothing. And to this day they have been my biggest supporters and cheerleaders."

"That sounds really nice," Quinn said with an encouraging nod of her head. She glanced at her father then turned back to Rachel. "It must be nice to have parents who will support you no matter what."

Rachel beamed back at her in pride. She turned back to the table to find everyone eying her coldly.

Russell leaned forward in his seat. "Are your fathers married, Rachel?"

Rachel deflated at the question. Her fathers' union was a discussion she had heard being heatedly debated through hushed whispers over the years. Her father, LeRoy, wanted to move to a new state in order for their union to be recognized as valid, in order for the two of them to have rights that every heterosexual married couple had. But Hiram had roots in Ohio, family, and didn't want to move. It wasn't a fight they had often, but it was often one that resulted in LeRoy leaving the house in a huff to drive around the block and cool off. And every time, Rachel would stand by the bay window in the living room and wish for his return.

Quinn could detect the exact moment Rachel's mood plummeted, and she knew a politician like her father could as well.

Rachel felt her eyes mist over. "No." She swallowed thickly. "Ohio doesn't recognize same-sex unions as valid."

Russell lifted his chin and looked down his nose at Rachel. "That's a shame, dear."

Rachel shot out of her seat just as Frannie walked in with the salad. "I hope I didn't miss too much of getting to know Rachel," she said with a smile as she placed the salad on the table.

Quinn stood up as well with eyebrows bunched in confusion.

"You're too late," Russell informed her. "I've heard all I've wanted to know."

Frannie scanned over the room and made quick assessment of the situation. Her eyes hardened as she returned her gaze to her father. "I see."

Rachel turned to Frannie. "Francine—"

"Frannie," she returned in a kind voice, and Rachel attempted her best to smile back.

"It was very nice of you to make this for me. Really, thank you. You've been very hospitable," she said solely to her. "But I really think I should be on my way. It was very nice meeting you all." She reached for her purse on the back of the chair and walked toward the door without a backwards glance.

Quinn scrambled over the two chairs to chase after her, nearly knocking Frannie out of the way. She followed Rachel through the short hallway to the door. "Rachel, wait." She grabbed for her arm and spun Rachel around to find tears welling in her eyes.

Rachel jerked her arm away. "I'm going home, Quinn," she mumbled as she jerked the door open and stepped out onto the car porch.

Quinn followed hot on her trails. "Rachel, please just stay a little longer."

"No." She hiccupped and spun around to face Quinn once more, this time with tears streaming down her face. Her cheeks grew red and blotchy with outrage and hurt all at once. "No, I believe I'm absolutely done, and that I need to go home." She walked down the car porch to the last car in the driveway, then turned to face Quinn yet again. "The fact that you didn't even tell them I was coming, that I _existed_, and I ended up looking like a fool in front of your family is inexcusable, Quinn Fabray."

Quinn's hands balled into fists at her side as she screamed in frustration, "This wasn't about you!"

"Exactly!" Rachel shouted back. "This wasn't about me at all, Quinn," she whimpered. "It was about you having the opportunity to stick it to your family. _That's_ the problem here."

Quinn stood there with her mouth agape, fumbling for a rebuttal, an excuse.

But Rachel didn't wait for one.

Her heels clacked as she walked to the other side of the car and grabbed for the door handle. She jerked on the locked door three times before she turned to Greg whom she could feel behind her.

Peter sidled up beside Quinn with a grim expression. "What will you have us do?"

"Greg, I instruct you to open this car _this_ _instant_!" Rachel roared. "You cannot keep me here against my will, and I am asking, I implore you to please take me home." Greg bit his lip in contemplation of how to best proceed. But he was a softy at heart and seeing Rachel stare up at him with tearful eyes, that in no way hid the fire behind them, was his undoing. Without waiting for any form of authorization from Quinn or Peter, Greg unlocked the car.

Quinn scoffed. "Wuss." She glared daggers at Greg when he looked up at her before climbing into the driver's seat.

Peter turned to her. "Are we taking her home?"

Quinn looked through the windshield of the car to Rachel in the back seat. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest in self-defense as she stared out the window, wiping a tear every few seconds.

Quinn narrowed her eyes in frustration. She fished into the pocket of her dress and produced a handkerchief. "Take her home," she instructed as she practically threw the handkerchief to Peter. "And if she cries, which she will, give her this," she finished softly.

Peter accepted the handkerchief and turned away to climb in the passenger's seat. Not a second later, Greg was pulling out of the driveway and walking down the street.

With no one around to watch her, Quinn ran both of her hands through her hair in aggravation and tugged as she loudly screamed at the evening sky. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood as the salty sting of tears welled in the corners of her eyes.

She heard rapid footsteps approaching her then felt slim arms wrap around her middle. "Do you want to give the paparazzi a show, Quinn?"

"I don't care," she mumbled hoarsely.

"Come on, Q," Frannie cooed as she pulled Quinn toward the house. "Let's go inside."

Quinn gritted her teeth against the pain that seemed to be ripping her apart from the inside out.

Nothing had ever hurt quite like this before.

* * *

Nothing had ever hurt quite like this before.

Not the physical sting of cold slushies, not a broken nose, not finding out that her ex-boyfriend in high school had been cheating on her with a more popular girl—nothing.

Nothing had ever hurt quite like having the rug of true love ripped right out from under her, like being made a fool of, like reliving memories she hadn't thought of since arriving to college. It felt like her heart was on fire and would soon burn out. Rachel wiped at her eyes feebly as she sniffed and tried to mold herself into a corner of the backseat as best as she could, hoping it would swallow her whole.

She felt like a game to Quinn, like all Quinn had ever wanted was to acquire a girlfriend so she could get back at her father. And Rachel had foolishly fallen in love in two weeks because she felt like she had finally met her equal. She felt she had finally met someone witty enough, strong enough, independent enough, genuine. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes with a pained whimper.

Peter turned around to face her with an open palm. "She said to give this to you because you'd be crying."

Rachel stared at him through watery eyes. She reached out to grab the cloth in his hand and brought it directly to her face. It was soft against her face like Quinn's chest when she lied on it, or Quinn's cheek when she lifted onto the tips of her toes to hug her.

She dried her eyes with the handkerchief and pulled it away from her face to examine it. It was pale yellow in color with blue lining the borders. Rachel turned it over to see the initials _QF_ embroidered into the fabric.

Her breath hiccupped as she held tightly onto the handkerchief and placed her hands in her lap, staring out the window with red-rimmed eyes all the way home and wondering where she would go from here.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title: **America, She's Beautiful

**Pairing: **Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry

**Rating: **PG-13

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

**Summary: **AU. She walked in with long curly blonde hair, hands clasped behind her back, and a red smile, and all Rachel wanted to know was why large, burly men were following her everywhere. | She walked in to find an ordinary brunette to strike up an argument with, and all Quinn cared about was that Rachel hadn't the slightest clue who she was.

* * *

No one had spoken since dinner.

Quinn had shut herself in her room. The last time she saw Frannie, she was tending to the dishes. Judy was in her own bedroom licking the wounds of her pride because no one had finished dinner. Russell had spent the past hour staring angrily at his TV. The utter embarrassment Quinn felt weighing heavy in her stomach like lead made it nearly impossible for her to leave her room. Never in her life had she miscalculated something as drastically as she had this dinner. It sent her into a tailspin, and she replayed the last hour and a half of her life over and over again in an attempt to figure out just where she had gone wrong.

Perhaps it was all her parents' fault, Quinn figured. Judy and Russell had jumped on Rachel with both feet the second she entered the kitchen. They acted as wolves that had torn into their prey with clamped jaws, never letting go. Surely it was their fault; Rachel hadn't felt uncomfortable until the moment she had stepped into their presence. Then again, she may have felt uncomfortable a split second afterward when it dawned on her that Quinn hadn't informed her parents about her attendance at dinner.

But it was the only way Quinn could foresee the dinner happening. Her parents couldn't know beforehand because then they would cancel on the whole thing and forgo meeting Rachel. The only way Quinn could make a statement about her sexuality once and for all was to keep her parents in the dark and show up with Rachel on her arm.

Her eyes flickered with unnamed emotions as they shifted around in her skull. She didn't calculate just how catastrophic the dinner would be. And she certainly didn't predict how beautifully heartbreaking Rachel's watery eyes could look, murky brown eyes staring up at her in distrust and betrayal. It wasn't Quinn's fault. All she wanted to do was come out to her parents, and she had done that. Rachel's own hurt feelings were a product of her parents' cold, judgmental personalities—nothing that had to do with Quinn.

Yet this unfamiliar feeling of guilt daintily balanced on her diaphragm. It made breathing rather uncomfortable, and Quinn adjusted the collar of her dress accordingly as she stared unseeingly at the polished hard wood floors below her.

It wasn't her fault that Rachel was hurt…yet it didn't change the fact that Rachel _was_ _hurt_. Hurt enough to cry, though Quinn suspected that it didn't take much for her-her _girlfriend_ to cry.

Rachel was her girlfriend, which by default meant Quinn _had_ to care when Rachel was upset, whether she felt personally responsible for said pain or not. Suddenly the concept of a relationship made her feel claustrophobic. Quinn hadn't been in one in years. She hadn't had to care about another individual's well-being since high school, and even then she never really cared how her boyfriends felt as long as they were loyal to her and helped her popularity. Caring for another individual didn't come as naturally to Quinn as it probably should have. It was why she had been referred to as the Ice Quinn in high school. Her stony expression never changed under any circumstances, and she was trying her best to maintain her grip on that Quinn now. But the more she thought of Rachel's face crumbling in utter despair, the queasier Quinn felt.

Had this had been a couple of years ago, Quinn probably would have tried to put her fist through a wall by now. Her temper had been legendary in high school; her often even-tempered demeanor would sometimes drop without warning and her entire mood would explode, causing Quinn to lash out.

Now, however, all she could do was rub at her throbbing temple, and sigh loudly at her misfortune. Perhaps putting a little forethought into Rachel's feelings on the matter could have prevented all of this. Quinn wasn't used to being considerate. She always said what she wanted, and she always got her way. That was just now life went. But now she was faced with a significant other who had proven herself to not only be Quinn's equal, but also proved that she wasn't afraid to walk away from Quinn and leave her hanging. No one walked away from Quinn, ever. And the fact that Rachel did without any regard to her feelings enraged Quinn just as much as it enticed her.

Rachel was forcing Quinn to be…considerate. And she didn't really know how to. But she knew someone who did.

With silent footfalls, she skulked downstairs, her pride tumbling behind her and snapping its neck from the fall. Quinn observed her sister finishing up the dishes in the kitchen. They had a dishwasher for such actions, but like Judy, Frannie found peace in immersing her hands in scalding water. The faint sound of humming reached her ears as Quinn neared her sister. She came to rest behind her and leaned her forearm on the counter.

Quinn knew her sister was aware of her presence, and thus felt no need to introduce herself. Her vocal chords felt constricted, and she cleared her throat, swallowed, and tried to speak. Frannie was intimidating in a way Quinn didn't know how to be, effortless. Frannie didn't try. As a matter of fact, she never would. She was the opposite of everything a Fabray was even though it was Quinn who often felt like the black sheep. Frannie was just shy of a tree hugger but very much a people hugger, and wouldn't dream of hurting anyone as long as said person didn't cross her family, especially her sister. However, by the sheer fact that she was an all-around _good_ _person_, she intimidated Quinn. Between the bullying of losers in school and being gay, Quinn often felt small, inferior and unworthy in her sister's presence, always had. And so Frannie always intimidated Quinn, effortlessly.

Smoothing down her dress with sweaty palms, Quinn took a half a step forward. "I'm sorry for ruining dinner for you and Ashton."

Immediately Frannie's humming stopped. She reached for the dish towel beside the sink and began to dry her hands while tossing a breezy, "Don't worry about it," over her shoulder.

Quinn's jaw clenched. "I just—I really wanted mom and dad to meet her."

"Did you?" Frannie challenged. She tucked a long blonde lock behind her ear then turned around to face Quinn who immediately became incensed at the implication that she had ulterior motives.

"Of course I did." Her tone was even though each word was spat out of her mouth.

Frannie hummed in acknowledgement and leaned back against the sink.

Quinn sighed and took a step back. "Look, all I came to do is apologize or whatever. I'll see you aro—"

"Quinn," Frannie interrupted in a soft voice that cut Quinn to the quick.

She sighed once again, shakily, and remained where she stood. When she looked up, Frannie offered her a sympathetic smile that she absolutely abhorred.

"Quinn, I absolutely adore the woman you have grown up to be," Frannie warmly told her.

Quinn's eyebrows crinkled in suspicion. "Where is this going?"

"You went to college and formed your own ideals for yourself and for the person you want to be."

Though suspicious, there was a large part of Quinn that desperately wanted to believe that _someone_ was actually okay with the life that she was leading. And the fact that it was sister would feel validating. Not as validating as if it were her mother or father, but validating in its own right.

"I couldn't be more proud of you," Frannie gushed with a sparkle in her eyes that she only reserved for her little sister. Her expression sobered just as quickly as it materialized as she bit her lip in contemplation and apprehension. "But I think…a part of you is trying so hard to bury that teenage girl with so many rigid and fixed definitions about herself that you aren't living just for _you_ and the person you are now. Let it go, Quinn. Let go of trying to get back at mom and dad, and just live. Okay? Before you miss out."

Her face had smoothed over into impassivity as Frannie poked and prodded at Quinn's insides. Her vocal chords felt choked, and Quinn tried her best to keep it from closing under all the weight of her emotions. Frannie always had a way of making her feel stripped bare. "Miss out on what?" Quinn finally managed to choke out.

Frannie gave a little shrug. "What's right in front of you."

Quinn growled lowly. "_She_ left _me_, Francine."

"To get away from _your_ parents," Frannie explained calmly. "And maybe you, too."

Quinn looked grief stricken, voice nearly a shriek as she cried, "So why the hell should I even be concerned about her then?"

"Okay. Don't," Frannie agreed. "Don't care about her. She was only some snooty, low class, big-nosed—"

Quinn's fists clenched at her side.

"—loudmouthed, farm girl, turned faux-New Yorker with only enough talent to sing karaoke to drunkards on weekends at _best_—"

"She's _talented_!" Quinn growled with ferocity that made Frannie flinch. "She's witty and talented, and _beautiful_. And she's going to Broadway no matter what you or dad think!"

Frannie rocked back on her heels and whistled, impressed. "You're right, Little Q. You don't seem to care about her _at all_."

Feeling duped, Quinn deflated and sagged against the counter at her side. She turned to keep from looking at the self-satisfied ghost of a smirk on Frannie's face. Her shoulders dropped. "She left me, Frannie."

Her voice was uncharacteristically small, and Frannie had to resist the urge to squeal and wrap Quinn in her arms. This was always her favorite side of Quinn, vulnerable. She just hated that Quinn's vulnerability only presented itself when she was feeling hurt.

"She was hurt, Quinn," Frannie inferred. "And I'm sure all she wanted to do was get the hell away from this house. You have to try to see this from her perspective. How many times have you wanted to run away from mom and dad?"

Quinn scoffed bitterly. "Too many." She almost had, twice.

"Exactly. And these are your own parents. Can you imagine how Rachel, someone who hasn't even met these people before, must have felt? Alone, alienated for just existing—I'm surprised she hadn't bolted sooner."

"So what the hell am I supposed to do?" Quinn asked with a weary exhale. She massaged her temples to assuage the beginnings of a migraine.

Frannie's face eased in slight amusement at the fact that this was all so foreign to Quinn. "Make up with her," she informed her without sounding patronizing.

Just as Frannie had predicted, Quinn's eyebrows drew inward in confusion. Her bottom lip poked out as Quinn tapped her finger to her chin. "Make up with her?" It felt so wrong on her tongue. Quinn Fabray didn't make up with people; people made up with her.

Frannie bit her bottom lip to stifle a giggle. "Yes, Quinn. You hurt her feelings. Now you make it up to her."

Now Quinn's lip really poked out in something she wouldn't dare call a pout. "I don't know how to make up with a girl." Or anyone, really.

Frannie brightened up at the opportunity to help. "I can tell you what my boyfriend does for me."

"I'm not a boy, Francine," Quinn very nearly whined, and Frannie recoiled and tried a new tactic.

"I know, I know," she soothed her proud sister's fragile ego. "I'm not at all suggesting that you're the boy in this situation, Quinn." She stepped closer and placed a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "I'm merely saying that I'm a girl, and you're dating a girl—therefore I have first-hand experience on what works when trying to make up with one. And so do you," she added. "In high school, what did your boyfriends do to make up with you?"

Quinn shrugged, then mumbled, "They bought me one flower and cheap chocolate."

Frannie cringed. "Well, maybe buy more than one flower," she suggested. "And chocolate that doesn't taste so cheap. But the most important thing, Quinn, is that you have to apologize, _and mean it_."

Quinn casted a doubtful glance at Frannie which was combatted by the severity in Frannie's eyes. "If you care about her, Quinn, then you'll find some form of sympathy inside of you, and be able to relate enough to how Rachel must feel to muster up a sincere enough apology."

With that, Frannie gave Quinn a brief hug, then walked out of the kitchen, leaving Quinn alone and completely dumbfounded.

* * *

Tears in her eyes, Rachel fumbled to get her key into the lock. She stumbled into the room to see a blurry figure sitting perched atop her bed. Blinking, the tears she was too proud to allow to fall streamed delicately down her face as her vision cleared enough to see Kurt sitting on her bed, looking at her in concern. Across the room was Millicent with an expression that mirrored Kurt's. She stretched her legs out from under her and stood on the floor to take long strides over to Rachel. "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

Rachel's breath stuttered as she attempted to string out a reply. Finally she gave up and collapsed into Millicent's arms.

"What's wrong with her?" Kurt asked as he approached the pair.

Millicent cocooned Rachel in a tight grip and turned to Kurt with a shrug of her shoulders and a worried look in deep gray eyes.

Kurt placed a hand on Rachel's shaking shoulders. "Oh, honey, get it together," Kurt urged. When Rachel only cried harder, followed by a mild glare from Millicent, he changed to a more sympathetic tone. "Is this about Quinn?"

"Uh-huh," Rachel croaked out then continued sobbing anew.

Kurt's eyebrows rose along his forehead. "Did something happen at the dinner?"

"Yes." Rachel sniffled then pulled away from Millicent. Kurt took it as his cue to grasp Rachel's arm and lead her to the bed.

Once seated, he slung his arm around her and pulled her closer. "Tell us what happened."

Millicent grabbed the chair from her desk to sit closer to the bed.

"I don't even know where to _start_," Rachel cried. "With the fact that I wasn't really invited—that Quinn hadn't even told her parents I was coming. The fact that her father said Quinn had never even _mentioned_ me before. Her parents _picked_ _me apart_, treating me as if I'm some backwater, trailer park trash just because my fathers—don't even get me _started_ on how they froze up when I mentioned I had two dads. Then her father had the audacity to bring up the fact that my fathers aren't—aren't," her breath hiccupped, "—_married_." She started bawling again and collapsed into Kurt's side in hurt and embarrassment.

Millicent's expression clearly showed the anger and resentment toward the situation at hand. "What did Quinn do?"

"_Nothing_," Rachel insisted. "She attempted to undermine her parents' insults, but the fact remains that she let all of this happen. Then afterward when I left, she had the nerve to tell me that this was all about _her_ not _me_."

Kurt hummed in understanding and crossed his legs, rubbing Rachel's arm up and down as she lied on his shoulder.

"I mean, it's like all she wanted was to just-just parade me around as her girlfriend—"

"To get back at her parents," Kurt finished.

Two pairs of eyes instantly shot over to him.

Rachel vehemently shook her head. "No, it's not like that. Quinn cares about me."

"Does she?" He looked from the beseeching look Rachel was shooting him to the hard look Millicent was giving him. Kurt sighed. "Even if she does, Quinn really seems like she's got some issues, Rachel."

"Don't we all?" Rachel challenged with a hint of annoyance that she didn't really understand. "Yes, Quinn messed up, okay? But we can't criminalize her for her actions, or act as if she's the only person in the world with 'issues' here."

"I'm not saying that," Kurt argued. "So we all have issues. That's all well and good, Rachel. But after this monstrosity of a dinner, you need to ask yourself is this siditty, bottle blonde actually fooling around with you because she's interested in you or is she just interested in rubbing her parents' nose in the fact that she's a raging mo and latched onto the first girl she saw?"

"Kurt, that's not fair," Millicent finally interjected, though she didn't look too sure.

He deflated before any of this got out of hand and turned back to Rachel. "All I'm saying is that Quinn's just getting out of the closet. And from the way this dinner sounds, she seems like she's still got a score to settle." He sat back on the bed. "Trust me, been gay all my life, and I've seen many from all walks of life. She fits the bill."

Rachel's gaze dropped down to her wringing hands in her lap.

* * *

Everything that Kurt had told her had been churning around in her head since last night. Quinn hadn't tried to contact her all day which meant that Kurt was right: Rachel was just a pawn in Quinn's game to get back at her parents. And though it shouldn't have come as a surprise, because Rachel had never been with anyone who only wanted her for her, she had thought Quinn was different.

The very first girl Rachel had had sex with was a drunken one-night stand. And though Rachel liked to think of it as a two month relationship, it was really nothing more than Rachel spending two months trying to contact Kelly after their hook-up.

Her second girlfriend, or first, really, was during her sophomore year. She was a freshman named Samantha who had joined the choir and began a months-long relationship with Rachel in the hopes of eventually scoring the position as co-captain. It took a long while, a gay-vention from Kurt, and Millicent threatening to slap some sense into her for Rachel to realize that she was being used.

Her most recent relationship before Quinn was with a woman named Tamara, and only lasted a couple of months once Rachel realized due to the lack of actual dates outside of the backseat of the girl's car that she was only into Rachel for the sex.

In high school her ex-boyfriend only became interested in her once glee club had cut into his popularity, and there were no other girls for him to date.

Rachel released a pained whimper and turned over onto her side, clutching a pillow to her chest. No one had ever wanted her for her. And it was high time she faced that she was just one of those girls who people used for their own personal gain.

And no matter how much Rachel wanted her to be, thought she was, Quinn was no different.

In the course of only a few weeks, Rachel had fallen hopelessly in love with a woman who she finally felt she could be herself with. She didn't have to give Quinn the condensed versions of her thoughts like Finn. Quinn not only answered her calls, but actually _called_ Rachel, and maintained daily contact with her unlike Kelly. She hadn't been trying to steal her spot or even worse, _share_ her spotlight, like Samantha had. And considering how uptight Quinn was, she definitely wasn't in it for the sex like Tamara had been.

Quinn was the only person Rachel had ever met that seemed truly genuine, which was why it hurt worse than anything she had ever felt before.

"Hey."

Rachel turned to find her roommate walking into the room. She wiped her eyes and sat up in the bed. "I didn't hear you come in."

Millicent offered a sympathetic half smile. "I didn't hear myself come in because you were sobbing so loudly."

Rachel blushed and ducked her head, bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Millicent threw her duffel bag onto the floor in front of her closet door and strolled over to the bed to sit down beside Rachel. "How're you holding up?"

Her voice was dull and lifeless when she spoke. "Miserably. I just lied here and came to the realization that everyone I've ever dated has used me for their own personal gain."

Millicent sighed. "It's like that sometimes." She patted Rachel's knee as her gaze skirted away in contemplation. "For what it's worth, though, I would take what Kurt said with a grain of salt."

"Why? He pretty much hit the nail on the head."

"Maybe…" Millicent acquiesced. "But you've said it yourself, Quinn is beautiful. A girl looking like her isn't hard pressed to find someone. So while I do think she may have been extremely misguided, I don't think she sought you out for the sole purpose of using you."

Shoulders tightening, Rachel glanced over at Millicent. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying she came to your coffee shop twice, Rachel, and probably would have come back again if she hadn't have succeeded in getting your number the first time she tried." Rachel grew bashful as she remembered her own eagerness that day. "She refused to let Robin serve her because she wanted _you_. And from what you've told me, she seems like the type to always want her way. Yet you don't let her have her way, and she still sticks around. Do you get where I'm going here?"

Rachel stared blankly at Millicent, unwilling to allow herself to believe.

"I'm saying I think she wants you, Rachel, _you_. And she may have royally screwed up, but don't let Kurt's words play on your insecurities and make you miss out on a good thing. So what if everyone in your past has used you? Quinn could be the one person who hasn't been."

"If she actually cared, then she would have at least attempted to contact me by now."

Millicent snorted out a laugh. "I know her type. The dancing industry is full of them. And so is the theater industry. She sounds like a prideful bitch. It's gonna take longer than a day for her to get off her high horse long enough to realize that she fucked up."

Rachel glanced away from Millicent to stare down at her bed sheets. She wrapped her index finger around a loose thread and tugged it, almost petulantly. "It just hurts, Mill."

"I know it does," Millicent soothed. "But if it's worth it, if she's worth it, just see if you can take another stab at it."

Millicent's statement called to Rachel's determinate side, and it pulsed with newfound life that made Rachel nervous.

The spark in Rachel's eyes was noticeable, and Millicent smiled. "Kurt told me you said you loved her."

"Why are you doing this?" Rachel had to ask.

"This is the happiest I've seen you in the three years we've been roommates," Millicent answered readily. "I've seen you with every girl, with varying degrees of contentedness. But…you've been _happy_ with her, Rachel. Something other than musical theater and your fathers has made you happy. You've always been a fearless risk taker, and lately I haven't been seeing that. But the day you came home and told me you had given Quinn your number, I saw a glimpse of the old Rachel who wasn't afraid to take risks in love even though love could leave her alone and hurt. So take another risk. Show me that the dare devil believer in true love and happiness is still there."

And Millicent couldn't tell what decision Rachel arrived at when her lips pressed into a firm line, but she knew a decision of some sort had just been made.

* * *

She couldn't see past the two dozen red and pink roses in her hand, but reasoned it was for the best because her cheeks burned with the indignity of it all. She grappled for a better grip on the giant box of vegan chocolates and used her knuckles to rap on the door.

Just as she was sure she was going to drop everything in her hand, the door opened. Quinn could only see a coif of brunette hair and the beginnings of a proud forehead. Inwardly, she scowled. It was the funny looking gay kid.

Kurt titled his head upward to peep over the flowers to the mop of blonde head behind them. He sucked his teeth. "Well, if it isn't Little Miss President's Daughter."

Quinn's expression hardened. "_Don't_ call me that."

Kurt rocked back on his heels but remained steadfast. "She doesn't want to see you."

Quinn readjusted the flowers in her hand and angled her body to see Kurt better. Her eyes were icy as they zeroed in on his. "I would much rather hear her say that."

"Well I would get her to come to the door…but then she'd have to see you," he affirmed.

"Look, I just came here to apologize," Quinn explained, nearly at her wit's end. "Let. Me. _See_. Her." She took a step closer. "Or you can _personally_ be acquainted with my body guards."

Kurt blanched. "Is that a threat?"

"Kurt," a small voice called to him from inside the dorm room, and Quinn immediately craned her neck to peer inside. She heard her but she couldn't see her, and it was driving her crazy.

Kurt's eyebrow twitched as he backed away from the door enough to see inside. "Yes?"

Quinn's eyes narrowed as she heard Rachel's voice, but not her words. She watched Kurt frown then turn back to her. "Excuse me." Quinn stepped aside as Kurt passed. They stared each other down in the hallway. Kurt folded his arms as his hip cocked out to the side. "You really hurt her, you know. And if you know what's good for you, you'd grovel." He didn't even give Quinn a chance to defend herself before he walked down the hallway.

"And if you know what's good for _you_, you'd keep walking," Quinn responded coldly.

Her grip around the bouquets of flowers tightened in annoyance, even as Quinn stepped into the empty room. She peered around the door to find Rachel standing a few feet away. Her droopy shoulders and hands folded in front of her indicated an unsure, defensive posture.

Quinn stepped further into the room and closed the door behind her. She took in Rachel's disheveled hair and the dried tear streaks on her face as if she had spent the entire day sobbing in bed. Quinn's chest heaved once then caved in at the sight of her. Her pride washed away with only a hint of reluctance as she took a step closer.

Rachel walked her eyes over what had become familiar territory and felt herself ache. She came to rest on the roses and box of chocolates in Quinn's arms. Immediately the ice surrounding her heart melted and she felt it beat strongly beneath her breast. On the outside, however, she remained where she stood with dull, listless eyes, unwilling to trust Quinn after what had happened yesterday.

Quinn tried her hardest not to perceive Rachel's inaction as rejection. Though the novelty of her position as the one doing the making up instead of being made up to caused the slightest quiver of insecurity in her knees. She looked at Rachel then down at herself carrying the flowers and chocolate. Her tongue swiped over her lower lip in anxiety. "Sometimes I feel like the guy," she spoke into the silence.

The statement caught Rachel completely unawares and her hands fell to her sides. That certainly didn't sound like an apology. But the diffidence lacing Quinn's normally commanding voice compelled Rachel to reassure her. "Honey, you're insanely beautiful," she breathed without thought, only instinct borne of a deep, all-consuming, insanely passionate love guiding her. "And you wear frilly dresses," she continued with a hint of incredulity lacing her voice. "It is absolutely absurd for you or anyone else to view you as 'the guy'—quite honestly I don't even think there is a 'guy' in our relationship. We're two women first and foremost. In addition to that, neither one of us desires to be referred to as the opposite sex." She looked at Quinn in hesitation. "And I would assume, unless I've overlooked something, that you do not _feel_ like you're innately a man, so—"

"Let me finish," Quinn cut in, mind reeling. However, she drew comfort from Rachel's rambling and stepped further into the room. "And sometimes I've wondered if, when people saw us out and about, that that was how they viewed me in relation to us. And, coming from a history of only dating guys, only envisioning myself with guys, being seen as 'the guy' has never been something I've had to worry about. Until now."

Rachel deflated. "Quinn…"

"I did that, made you come with me to dinner with my parents…because a part of me still cares about what people think of me, especially my parents. A part of me will always care, and I don't know how to shut that off." Her eyes shined with countless emotions as the flowers shook in her grip. "I don't know how to make that part of me _not_ care," she continued, pleading for Rachel to understand. "But when I'm with you…" she trailed off with a bashful, incredulous laugh. "Rachel, when I'm with you, I feel like—for the first time in my life—that I may actually be able to be myself and go after what I _want_."

The passion in Quinn's voice shook Rachel to the core. Her heart ached in desperation to actually believe that all of this was true. Her voice croaked as if she hadn't just used it in a two minute monologue just moments ago. "What is it that you want?" she dared to ask, hanging on to Quinn's every word.

Quinn stepped closer, emboldened by how badly Rachel was shaking with the need for a confirmation. "You," she conceded. "Rachel, I've never—you're the first person who I've actually _wanted_, desired. I tried so, so hard," she confided with a self-deprecating laugh, "to keep from coming here and apologizing today because I was too prideful. But I—I had to see you."

Rachel inhaled a deep breath, completely overwhelmed.

"And so I'm sorry. Okay? I'm _so_ sorry I put you in that position, and I'm sorry that my parents are assholes. And I'm sorry you cried. And I'm sorry I was inconsiderate. I just—I just want to be able to _be_, to just exist with the woman I love without having to constantly wonder what people are thinking about me—"

Rachel's breath stuttered out of her lungs. "Love?" she breathed.

Quinn's eyes grew wide. She swallowed the rest of her impassioned rant as her cheeks inflamed a rosy pink. Clearing her throat, she took a step forward. "And—" She fumbled over herself to present the flowers and chocolate to Rachel in order to cover up her previous faux-pas. "These are for you. And the chocolate's vegan, I promise."

Rachel accepted the flowers and chocolate in her arms, eyes brimming with tears. She could count on one hand how many apologies she had received in her lifetime, even from all the years of bullying in high school. But no apology had ever been as extravagant, as fumblingly heartfelt and perfect as the one Quinn was delivering to her right now.

Quinn's shoulders were tight with apprehension as she saw the first tear fall from Rachel's eyelash and splash against her cheek. Alarm pulsed through her. "Did I do something wrong? What happened?" Her voice trilled with terror. "_Say_ something."

Rachel sniffled and turned around to place the flowers and chocolates on the bed behind her. She turned to face Quinn once more then stepped into her personal space and wrapped her arms around her. Rachel nuzzled just under her chin and sighed. It should have been terrifying, how much like home this space had become recently. "Thank you." Her voice trembled just as much as Quinn's.

Rachel felt Quinn's body relax under her touch. "No one has ever apologized to me like that before." Her breath whooshed out onto Quinn's chest, creating goose bumps. Quinn shivered and wrapped her arms around Rachel's shoulders. She shut her eyes tightly and relished this moment for all it was worth because never in her life had she felt this complete.

"Quinn," Rachel whispered in a hoarse voice.

Quinn exhaled. "Yeah?"

Her heart rose in her throat in uneasiness as her grip around Quinn's waist tightened. "I need to hear it, Quinn," Rachel spoke into her chest. "I've had way too many people date me only for their personal gain. So if you genuinely love me, Quinn Fabray, then you say it." She pulled back enough to look up at Quinn. The fire in her eyes that Quinn had grown fond of seeing shined brightly up at her and threatened to burn them both alive. Rachel's confidence and determination nearly knocked Quinn off her feet. "Because I love you, Quinn, _dearly_. And if you don't feel the same then you can walk away right now, because I care about you entirely too much and I don't think I can—"

Quinn pressed her lips so gently to the corner of Rachel's mouth, Rachel thought she was going to cry all over again. Quinn dragged butterfly kisses from one corner of Rachel's mouth to the other as she attempted to calm the erratic, fearful pounding of her own heart. She kissed Rachel's cheek, her cheek bone, a tear at the corner of her eye and Rachel shuddered as her eyes closed. She kissed the lobe of her ear, and mouthed up the side before nipping at the tip and relishing in Rachel's fingers gripping her dress.

She couldn't look her in the eye and say words she had said countless times to get a guy to do what she wanted, but never actually meant. Quinn couldn't bring herself to look at Rachel and say the words that, for the first time in her life, she actually meant. She breathed into Rachel's ear nervously, though Rachel's brain nearly short-circuited from the feel of it.

"I love you," Quinn whispered like it was her best kept secret.

And truthfully, it had been.


	9. Chapter 9

**Title: **America, She's Beautiful

**Pairing: **Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry

**Rating: **PG-13

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Just having a little fun.

**Summary: **AU. She walked in with long curly blonde hair, hands clasped behind her back, and a red smile, and all Rachel wanted to know was why large, burly men were following her everywhere. | She walked in to find an ordinary brunette to strike up an argument with, and all Quinn cared about was that Rachel hadn't the slightest clue who she was.

**A/N:** I'm considering writing an epilogue. But in case I decide against it, thank you, thank you, thank you to all those who have read and reviewed. :)

* * *

"I don't want to feel ashamed about how I feel, or feel like I have to constantly prove myself, or feel like the love I feel is inferior because I feel it for another woman," Quinn rambled in a hushed, self-conscious voice, unveiling life's secrets underneath the comfort that Rachel's bed sheet provided. They were cocooned in New York heat, sweat just beginning to bead their skin. And though Quinn didn't believe in breaking a sweat unless she found herself as a flyer during the basket toss, she didn't seem to mind how slick her skin was quickly becoming, especially because she got to witness Rachel's skin do the same. Her olive toned skin shimmered from the sun barely penetrating the sheet to illuminate them to each other's eyes.

Quinn had become a bit of a lesbian philosopher over the past couple of days, and Rachel was all too eager to soak up every nuance, every fear that Quinn laid bare as an offering. Her eyes were balls of glitter that shined in adoration at Quinn as Rachel, too, absorbed the sharpness of Quinn's facial features that contrasted beautifully with the soft curves of her body. Her gaze fell to Quinn's right arm that strategically covered her breasts as her hand came to rest under the pillow. Rachel enclosed the slender arm in her grasp and gradually peeled it away to reveal small, pale breasts. Her breath quickened at the sight of them, and she could practically _feel_ Quinn's nipples harden under her stare. "I've learned," Rachel murmured as she dragged her thumb across a rosy nipple, causing Quinn to flush, "that no one has greater control over your thoughts or feelings than _you_, Quinn." She cupped Quinn's breast in her hand, feeling the weight of it. "When something unfortunate befalls you, _you_ can choose whether or not you will be angry, or whether or not you can brush it off."

Quinn gave a sharp shake of her head. "Rachel—"

"I spent the first year of my high school career sobbing my eyes out in the bathroom stall every day because of all the insults hurled at me," Rachel explained carefully. She watched for any signs of judgment or disgust on Quinn's face. When she saw none, she continued. "The second year, I had managed to wait until I got home to cry. By the third year with my popular boyfriend, the insults about my appearance didn't bother me as much. It was the insults about my dads that got to me. My senior year, I thought I was the cock of the walk because, well, I was a _senior_," she stressed with an obnoxious laugh that pulled a smile from Quinn's lips, but not her concerned, furrowed brow. "I just knew I was gonna come to NYADA and _be_ somebody, so no one could touch me then, not even the insults about my fathers got to me."

Quinn's voice was strained with barely contained rage at the history of bullying Rachel was informing her of. "I don't get what you're saying."

"What I'm saying is that by senior year I chose not to let the haters get to me," Rachel explained simply. She tweaked Quinn's nipple and bit her lip as hazel eyes drifted closed. "And I was a much better, happier person for it."

Quinn stifled a moan. "So what does this have to do with me?"

Her refusal to vocalize her pleasure excited Rachel's competitive nature. "It means—" she began while cocking her head to the side, and twisting a nipple. Quinn's breath hitched, and Rachel felt her stomach knot at the sound. "It means that you, too, have the ability to one day wake up and decide for yourself that you're going to start living your life for _you_, and doing what makes you happy. And, when that day comes, the shame and guilt and the resentment toward yourself you feel will eventually slide right off."

The speech Rachel was delivering to Quinn resembled Frannie's own words when she told her that more than anything, Quinn needed to live for herself.

Rachel's hand lifted to cup the side of Quinn's face when she noticed her eyes grow unfocused. "Hey."

Quinn directed her attention to Rachel then shuffled closer. The rigidity in her posture lessened as the first wave of Rachel's body heat licked against her skin. Molding into her side, Quinn dipped her head to mouth a trail along Rachel's neck.

Her initiative never failed to surprise Rachel who had assumed Quinn to always be somewhat timid due to this being her first experience with a girl. But Rachel should have known that someone as bold as Quinn Fabray would eventually catch on and make her own moves.

"I also think that—" Her sentence died in a strangled moan as Quinn fell between her thighs in all the right places.

"I'm done talking," Quinn murmured with a sultry grin. She grabbed Rachel's wrists and placed them above her head.

Rachel gulped as her eyes widened. She nodded her head. "Me too."

Quinn's laugh, cocky and self-satisfied, settled between the thighs wrapped around her waist. "I thought you might be."

* * *

Quinn was on cloud nine, Frannie could tell. Her sister hadn't dished much more than saying she and Rachel had successfully made up, and that was enough for Frannie. Just seeing her sister genuinely happy for the first time since they were children was enough.

But she knew it would all soon come to a screeching halt due to their father's campaign. Lightly, Frannie strummed her fingers against the mahogany dinner table that had been the place for family meals for the past month and a half. The only indication of uneasiness on her otherwise impassive face was the way her hazel eyes batted from one end of the room to the other. Her eyes rolled to the den downstairs where she heard her father stir from his reclining chair. His footsteps were heavy, and Frannie sighed as she waited for him to reach the top of the stairs. Their eyes met. Russell flashed a brief smile. "Hello, Frannie."

Frannie gave a polite smile with undertones of affection. "Hi, daddy."

He lumbered over to the head of the table and pulled out his chair, gazing at the top of the stairs to find Judy waltzing down. They exchanged pleasantries, and Frannie sidled up beside her mother. "Hi, mommy."

Judy ran her fingers through Frannie's hair with a small smile.

Quinn was the last at the table, and she slid in opposite Frannie. They exchanged a brief glance before Quinn sighed with a rise of her eyebrows. "Hello, everyone." She looked up to find all eyes on her and her own narrowed in suspicion. "What's this meeting about?"

Russell cleared his throat. He steepled his fingers together and placed his hands on the table. "As of an hour ago, we're scheduled to ship out to London tomorrow at noon."

No one looked surprised, though Judy gave a start when Quinn jerked her head so fast to glare at her father Judy was sure her neck was going to snap. "_Excuse_ me?"

"You were informed of our departure several days ago, Quinn, when I also advised you all to pack," Russell informed her, not the least bit affected by her outburst. "If you didn't heed that warning, that is your issue and yours alone."

Frannie smoothly reclined in her seat as she was no part of this argument.

Quinn narrowed her eyes into vicious slits at her father as her jaw clenched. "Why the he—" A quick breath, and Quinn continued. "Why are we leaving so hastily?"

"Because we—_I_ have business to conduct. Like it or not, Quinn, your little excursion is over."

Quinn scowled at her father as she leaned back in her seat. Her tongue clucked against the roof of her mouth in annoyance. She turned to her mother. "Are you okay with this?" Quinn practically shrieked. "You don't have to relinquish your power. You have a say."

"That's _enough_, Quinn," Russell barked.

"Honestly you two," Judy chastised in a hushed, controlled voice. Her eyes belied the neutrality of her voice in their intensity. "You've been at each other's throats since…"

Quinn shot her mother a dry look. "Since what, mom?"

"I refuse to have this conversation," Russell cut in.

Frannie leaned forward in her seat then, ready to tap in as peacemaker and Quinn-saver as she always did. She tossed her hair over her shoulder with an air of nonchalance. "Actually, daddy, I was planning on staying behind for a bit with Ashon. Quinn is welcome if she wants."

A blonde eyebrow quirked along Quinn's forehead in confusion as Russell grimaced at his eldest daughter. "Frannie…"

Unaffected, Frannie replied, "It'll only be a few days at the most, father. Then we'll fly out to assist with your campaign image." There was only a hint of an undercutting tone in her voice, undetectable.

"I want to stay with Frannie," Quinn declared in resolution.

Russell cut his eyes to from Frannie to Quinn, then Judy who sat between the pair at the other end of the table. She seemed to have no qualms, which only irritated Russell more. "Really, what would a few days hurt?"

"My campaign," he gritted between his teeth.

"Oh, honey, you've got this in the bag," Judy assured with a smile that Quinn couldn't decipher. "You and Victor have become a bit of a dream team."

Though entirely put out by everyone, an air of smugness came over Russell. He grunted his approval of her statement with a twist of his lips.

Feeling triumphant, Quinn eased back into her seat with a smug look on her face.

* * *

Rachel was folding her laundry into a neat pile when Kurt waltzed into the room with a rolled up newspaper in his hand. Millicent lowered the _Dance_ _Quarterly_ magazine by an inch to notice his presence before she went back to reading it.

The air was ripe with floral fabric softener and Rachel's humming. It was the first serene day the room had seen since Rachel had come storming through the room a few days ago with tears in her eyes.

Kurt made a beeline for the chair near Rachel's bed. "I guess it's a good thing you cut your losses with Blonde Barbie while you had the chance."

Rachel winced. She had forgotten to call Kurt and inform him that she and Quinn had actually made up. However, his statement had piqued her interest. She placed an unfolded blouse on her neatly made bed and turned to face Kurt. Smoothing her palms on her shorts, she cleared her throat. "What do you mean by that?"

"Apparently she's due to fly halfway around the world tomorrow," Kurt informed in a blasé voice. He crossed one leg over the other and folded his arms across his chest. "I knew that girl was nothing but a user."

Rachel's jaw dropped, and even Millicent slowly lowered her magazine to show more interest in the conversation. "She-she _what_?" She searched her mind for a suitable response. "But I—we—" but found none.

Kurt shot her an odd look, but handed her the newspaper. He ran a hand artfully through his hair then crossed his arms again.

Her eyes were bright in alarm and newly forming fury as they scanned over the paper. It was front page news to no surprise. And the headline simply read: **Our Nation's President Takes Flight with First Family.** Rachel saw red. The paper smacked the floor as Rachel stormed over to the other side of the room for some air and a chance to think.

She and Quinn had made up. Quinn had apologized, they had professed their love for one another, then she and Quinn had made love all night long—Quinn had _apologized_, something Rachel knew enough about Quinn to know it was a rarity. Yet Quinn apologized to her, and seemed to have meant it. They had fully made up, and now Rachel had just received information that Quinn was flying to Europe tomorrow without even informing her.

Rachel paced the floor, bottom lip between her teeth as she attempted to come up with a reason as to why Quinn wouldn't inform her of something that would affect their relationship. Had it slipped her mind? Did Quinn just not think it that important to inform her? Or…did Quinn not think _Rachel_ was that important to inform?

Kurt watched worry lace every inch of Rachel's frame. He turned to Millicent to find her eying Rachel in concern. Glancing between the two of them, his lips grew firm in annoyance at being left out. "What am I missing?" he asked with suspicion lacing his voice. He stood up and took a step toward Rachel's pacing frame. "You and Quinn are over, right?"

Rachel shot him a look of strong conviction before she crumbled. "We made up yesterday," she hastily replied. "But—"

"_Seriously_?" Kurt replied with an incredulous tilt of his head. "She made a fool of you in front of her whole family. That's unforgivable."

And Rachel was fully prepared to rebuff his statement with how Quinn had apologized, and they had made up, and not every mistake is unforgivable. But in light of the recent information that Quinn had neglected to inform her of, she didn't really have the words or the energy to fight for her.

When Rachel offered no reply, Kurt swiveled around to face Millicent. "And you're okay with this?"

Millicent lowered her magazine once more. Irritation showed clearly in the set of her dark eyebrows. She spoke slowly. "Not only was I okay with it, I endorsed it."

Kurt threw his hands up in exasperation. "_Endorsed_ Rachel going back to that spoiled, entitled brat?" Rachel's jaw tightened. "Why on earth would you do that?"

"Because first and foremost, Rachel is a grown woman who can do whatever and whomever she wants." Millicent tossed a saucy wink at Rachel that made her blush. "And secondly…I hadn't seen Rachel as happy as she was with Quinn in all the time that I've known her," she confessed. "It was a mistake. A big mistake, yes, but a mistake nonetheless. And Rachel's happiness shouldn't have been sacrificed because _you_ deemed Quinn's actions as unforgiveable."

"And look where that's gotten us," Kurt pointed out, making a show of glancing around the room. "Rachel is once again hurt because Quinn is going on a world tour to meet all kinds of exotic women because guess what? She got what she wanted. She needed an aid in the form of a woman to come out to her parents, and she did just that. Now she can quietly slip out of New York without Rachel knowing and go sleeping with women around the world."

"This isn't about you!" Rachel finally snapped with a loud shriek of her voice. The room grew silent as Millicent trained her eyes on Rachel and even Kurt turned around to face her. "This is _not_ about you, Kurt Hummel, and I would appreciate if you would cease this drivel about how Quinn is going to travel around the world and-and _screw_—" Millicent bit back a giggle "—international women! This _is not_ your business. It's _mine_. And though I've always loved and cherished your friendship and advice, right now what I need more than anything is for you to can it and allow me to think."

The shock was evident in Kurt's face. Properly chastened, he walked toward the chair and had a seat once more while Rachel began to pace once again.

She loved her best friend. She really did. But all of his naysaying was preventing her from having a single clear thought.

Though she couldn't help the nagging part of her brain that suggested Kurt could have been right this whole time. No one ever really liked Rachel for _her_. They liked her for the opportunity she afforded them. She thought Quinn had been different, yet this is twice in only a few days when Quinn proved to be just like everyone else: a user. It was absolutely possible that Quinn had picked Rachel up a coffee shop, romanced her with her insufferable personality in order to talk Rachel into coming to dinner so Quinn could come out to her parents. And by not informing Rachel of her departure tomorrow, Quinn really did seem to be attempting to sneak out of the back door, never to be heard from again.

Kurt watched despair slowly elongate Rachel's expression. "You know I'm right."

Millicent's shoulders slumped in sympathy. "Rachel…"

Her eyes welled. She could not take their pity right now. Rachel walked over to her desk and grabbed her keys. She stormed toward the door, and turned back around to face the blurry people in her room. "I-I'll see you all later." And without another word, she was gone.

* * *

Quinn threw the newspaper across the room and yelled in frustration. With her luck, Rachel had already seen this. She sat up on her bed and swung her legs off the side and onto the floor. Digging her claws into the mattress, Quinn stood up from the bed and began to pace.

A knock promptly sounded against her door, and she swiveled around with rage in her eyes. "Who is it?" she snarled.

"Greg."

She sighed, shoulders drooping. "Come in, Greg."

The door busted open and Greg and his muscles bounded through the doorway. He surveyed the room with sharp eyes before landing on Quinn. He too sighed once he realized she was unharmed and this was likely nothing more than a tantrum. His muscles loosened in his too tight t-shirt as he walked over to Quinn. "What happened?"

Quinn glanced over at the newspaper, now a disorganized heap on her bedroom floor. "My father made front page because he's traveling to Europe."

Greg's features pinched in confusion. "O…kay?"

Quinn shot him a dirty look. "So Rachel may have read this by now, _okay_?" At his continued befuddlement, Quinn felt her blood boil.

"So…"

"So I haven't had the chance to tell her about the trip!" Quinn roared.

Greg winced then frowned down at her. "You don't have to shout."

"You don't have to be such an idiot, Greg!" She recoiled at her own statement when she saw the wounded look on his face. Her expression turned apologetic. "Okay, look, I'm sorry, Greg." She ran long fingers through her hair in frustration. "I just—" Quinn hesitated then brightened. "Actually, can you take me to NYADA?"

* * *

The sun was just beginning to set when Quinn sauntered quickly through the campus of NYADA. It was mostly empty save for a couple of students who either hadn't left yet or were planning on staying for summer school. Greg and Peter were no more than two steps behind her on either side, remaining vigilant as they scanned their surroundings.

Wind whipped her hair to one side and Quinn squinted in the distance to see a familiar svelte figure jogging toward her. She felt Peter tense from her left followed by Greg, and she waved a hand to calm them. "If I'm not mistaken that's Rachel's roommate."

"And if you are mistaken then that's possibly some woman trying to attack you for who knows what," Peter replied as he sidestepped Quinn's outstretched hand to walk by her side. Greg stepped ahead as well and positioned himself a step in front of Quinn, matching her stride.

"Really, guys, I don't think this is anything threatening."

"And if something were to happen to you, your father would have our asses," Peter replied.

The jogger's features became more visible the closer she came and Quinn confirmed it was Rachel's roommate. Millicent came to a stop in front of the three of them, jogging in place to keep momentum.

Quinn eyed her cautiously. "Hi. Where's Rachel?"

Millicent groped for the pause button on her earbuds and ceased her music. "What does it matter to you?" she panted. "You're leaving tomorrow anyway. So you never have to worry about her again." Quinn scoffed and Millicent looked her up and down, sizing her up. "Looks like Kurt was right after all."

"What are you even talking about?" Quinn barked. Her hip cocked outward in a defensive posture as she folded her arms across the chest.

"You're nothing but a user and Rachel deserves better," Millicent chided. She slicked back her ponytailed hair and started to take off when Quinn grabbed her arm.

"Wait," Quinn demanded.

Millicent wrested out of Quinn's grasp. "I went to bat for you and you completely ruined it, you know," she divulged with annoyance clearly written across her face.

Quinn took a half step backward. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I told Rachel to give you another chance because you fucked up, but so does everyone. And you—you made her _happy_," Millicent stressed. "You have been the only person in all the time that I've known Rachel and been her roommate to make her light up like a Christmas tree."

Millicent's words were sobering, and Quinn found it nearly impossible to swallow the lump in her throat. Why did all of this sound so final? "She's not answering her phone."

"That's because she left her phone when she stormed out of the room when she received news that _you_ are going backpacking across Europe with your family," Millicent accused with a finger pointed in Quinn's direction. Quinn watched the finger with flared nostrils, daring it to touch her. "It would have been nice if you would have told her you'd be leaving in, I don't know, a _day_."

"I'm not _going_!" Quinn snarled. "At least not _now_."

Millicent glared at Quinn in suspicion. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not leaving tomorrow," she explained. "I'm staying with my sister for a few days so I can spend more time with Rachel."

"Why didn't you just tell her all of this?" was the logical question Millicent vocally pondered.

Quinn huffed. "Not that it's any of your business, but I was planning to. As you already know the past few days have been rocky for us. I didn't want to add the stress that I was leaving as well." She ran her cool fingers across her hot neck in an attempt to ground herself in the face of all the anxiety that was strumming through her veins. "My father purposefully blindsided me by buying an early flight and telling us all we were leaving tomorrow. Thanks to my sister, I get to stay behind a few extra days. But this _wasn't_ planned…at least not by me." Her posture preserved her pride, but hazel eyes grew pleading as she searched Millicent's face for understanding. "I'm not _using_ Rachel," Quinn elaborated. "I—look, I love her, okay? And I get that I screwed up, but that doesn't mean I don't care about her."

Millicent studied the sincerity in Quinn's eyes for a long moment. She hesitated then sighed. "And you love her, right?"

"Yes," Quinn rushed out in a quick breath. "I do. Will you tell me where she is?"

* * *

Quinn stood outside of the little hole in the wall café where it all started with a fond quirk of her lips. It was hard to imagine that this was the place where she met someone who had come to mean so much to her in such a short amount of time. Someone who had her running around New York like a chicken with its head cut off just to see.

She peered inside to see the place mostly empty save for a couple at one end of the restaurant, and a man with his laptop just a few feet from Quinn's right. Rachel was straight ahead at the counter, wiping it clean. Her hair tumbled down both shoulders, bangs obscuring her eyes from Quinn's view. As if compelled by some unknown force, Quinn found herself pushing the door open and stepping inside.

The bell over the door to the coffee shop rang, alerting Rachel to the fact that she had a new customer. Her shoulders drooped and she buried her head deeper into her work, the current stain on the countertop.

She was tired; her feet were beyond sore; her feelings were very much hurt because of the fact that her romantic fling with Quinn had been, well, just a romantic fling. And more than anything all she wanted to do was close out and go home to rant to her roommate about her broken heart before Millie had the chance to dive into conversation about whatever latest amazing date she had been on.

"Excuse me?"

Her shoulders pulled taut in barely contained frustration, but Rachel was nothing if not professional. Besides, it was probably just nurse Monica as usual.

Rachel rolled her shoulders back in preparation for conversation, and took a second or two to contort her face into a wide smile before she spun around and cheerfully uttered, "Good evening, Monica!"

Only, the woman in front of her wasn't Monica.

It was Quinn.

Rachel felt her heart pound harshly against her chest as nostalgia tickled the back of her mind and pulled at her heartstrings. It was _Quinn_—sweet, beautiful Quinn. The annoying woman she had met weeks ago who went by the alias, Lucy. The president's daughter. The girl with the pompous attitude and complicated coffee order. The girl who hadn't taken no for an answer. The girl who had foisted herself into Rachel's life. The girl who had somehow managed to romance Rachel. The girl who had emotionally and physically given herself to Rachel. The girl who Rachel had wholeheartedly handed over her heart to.

The girl who had used her. The girl who had broken her heart.

Rachel fretted with her hair self-consciously, smoothing down her bangs and tucking lock after lock behind her ear. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Quinn scowled at Rachel's frank tone of voice and rude avoidance of eye contact. "You can start by looking at me."

Rachel glanced around at the three customers in the café. Noticing they were paying her no mind, she leaned over the counter to whisper to Quinn. "You do not get to make demands here, Quinn Fabray. You are the trouble-making heart breaker in this situation. You will _not_ come into my workplace and harass me. Don't you think you've done enough already?"

Quinn's facial expression never faltered. "You read the newspaper."

Rachel huffed and continued cleaning the countertop with more force than necessary.

Lips twisting in irritation, Quinn pondered. This wasn't exactly the meeting she had been expecting. Then again she should have known better than to attempt to predict Rachel Berry. She turned to find her bodyguards directly behind her. "Can you guys go grab a seat or something?" she whispered, slightly embarrassed.

Put out, they both skulked toward a booth near the entrance and took a seat.

Quinn turned back around to face Rachel. She opened her mouth to speak when someone interrupted.

"Uh, miss?"

Quinn spun around to find the guy with the laptop with his hand up like he was teacher's pet or something. "I believe I'm ready to order."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rachel grabbing her pen and pad and beginning to walk over to him. Quinn turned to face the counter. "I want coffee," she announced.

Rachel stopped in her tracks, shoulders pulled taut with annoyance. She turned and stalked back to Quinn. "Are you _trying_ to get me fired?" she whisper-yelled.

Quinn slid into a stool at the countertop. She folded her arms under her breasts and leaned against the countertop to be closer to Rachel. "Just give me the time of day," she countered.

"What more do you want, Quinn?" Rachel nearly whined. "You got what you wanted, okay? You got to come out to your parents, and you very nearly got to escape New York without having to confront me one last time. Why are you here, to crush my bruised and battered heart even further?"

Quinn ignored her dramatics to quickly say what she needed to in order to get Rachel to give her a chance. "I'm not leaving," Quinn told her. "At least not tomorrow."

Rachel's grip around the notepad in her hand tightened. "So you are leaving me?"

The question struck Quinn dumb. "Not…necessarily," she hedged. "I'm going out of the country for a few months, but…I'll be back."

The way Quinn tiptoed around the idea of them continuing their relationship endeared her to Rachel just as much as it frustrated her.

"Excuse me, miss?"

Quinn gritted her teeth at the interruption, and Rachel sprang into action. "I'll be right back, okay?" She walked away from the counter to serve the man with the laptop. "How may I help you this evening, sir?"

He flashed her a friendly smile and ordered his coffee then gestured to Quinn at the counter. "You and that woman don't seem to be getting along at the moment. I thought I'd save you."

Rachel glanced over her shoulder to find Quinn not so subtly glancing over her own shoulder to watch Rachel. "My girlfriend," Rachel sighed out. She gave a start at the words that had come out of her mouth and turned back around to face the man with blushing cheeks, unable to face Quinn.

The man recoiled. "Oh, okay. Forgive me for intruding, I had no idea it was a lover's spat."

When it was put that way, it all sounded kind of…cute. But the idea of Quinn leaving her was far from cute, and Rachel walked back to the counter to prep the coffee maker without a word to Quinn.

Silently observing Rachel prepare coffee made Quinn realize she really did want her own cup, especially if Rachel was making it. "Can I have an—"

"—extra-large hot coffee—half coffee, half hot chocolate, with a shot of espresso, three pumps of mocha, three pumps of caramel swirl, six creams and four liquid sugar," Rachel interjected. She looked up to find Quinn staring at her and the barest hint of a coy smile tugged at her lips.

"You remembered," Quinn mumbled.

"You're just that predictable, Quinn," Rachel chided in a playful tone. The smile on her face evaporated. "Though I suppose not that predictable, hmm?" Before Quinn could offer a reply, Rachel had already gone to serve her customer.

Quinn settled back in her seat with a heavy exhale. Rachel was annoying her more than usual. And sure, she could have informed Rachel of her departure, but that would have only put more strain on their relationship at a delicate time. It seemed Quinn was doing all the wrong things as of late, and she was running out of solutions. No one had ever told her this love thing would be this hard.

Rachel observed Quinn brood in her own thoughts out of the corner of her eye as she prepared her order. Suddenly she lit up. "This moment, you being here at the place where-where we started," she began with a blush, "it reminds me _The Scientist _by Coldplay."

Quinn blinked. She repositioned herself on the stool. "Did you just compare this moment to a song?"

Rachel released an embarrassed chuckle. "Theater geek here," she said.

Hearing Rachel laugh had become a rarity over the past few days and Quinn basked in the sound of it. "That's actually…my favorite Coldplay song."

"It suits you," Rachel murmured thoughtfully. "Reminiscent, broody, delicate."

"Rachel…" Quinn felt as if her limbs were on fire, discontent with how things were between them.

Quinn wasn't going to say much more, Rachel knew. Sometimes one had to read between the lines with Quinn. The pleading tone of her voice was enough. She bit her bottom lip in curiosity and hesitation before approaching the counter with her order. She slid it across the countertop to Quinn. "Where do you see us, Quinn? What do you want out of this?" she finally asked questions they probably should have addressed a while ago.

The doorbell sounded, and Quinn turned around to find the man with the laptop holding the door for the older couple to walk out. He then walked out behind them before going his own way.

Rachel's hand slipped into Quinn's, calling her attention back and Quinn turned to glance down at their joined hands. The tip of Rachel's finger traced along her index and Quinn shivered in remembrance of the first time Rachel played with her fingers. It had felt like she had stuck her finger in an electrical socket, the jolt that had traveled down her body and between her legs. Never in her life had she experienced such a thrill from someone's touch. And it proved to be producing the same feelings of longing and excitement now, coupled with the knowledge of just where that particular finger had been in the past couple of weeks.

"Quinn." Rachel's voice was soft, coaxing. "What do you want?"

Her gaze traveled up the expanse of Rachel's arm to her shoulders and collarbones before landing on her lips then up to meet her eyes. Quinn swallowed. "What do you want?" she parroted.

Rachel pondered the question for a moment before replying. "Why don't we start with this: why are you leaving?"

Quinn nodded at the question. This she could do. "My father's campaign manager, Victor, thought it would be wise to launch a worldwide presidential campaign. So as a family we're all going to visit a bunch of countries around the world to improve diplomacy which Victor hopes in turn would translate to more votes come November."

"Why do all of you have to go?" Rachel asked with a pouted lower lip.

Charmed, Quinn bit the corner of her lip. "Because being seen as a wholesome family man is the cornerstone to any presidential campaign," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Basically anywhere my dad goes, mom, Frannie and I have to go. He has to be seen as the perfect husband and father."

"And why didn't you tell me any of this? Why did I have to find out from the front page of a newspaper?" Rachel's brow furrowed. "I honestly don't think I can spend our relationship as the last informed of important details such as your months-long departure campaigning on your father's behalf."

"I know, I know," Quinn sighed. "I just didn't want to tell you I was leaving because we were already going through a lot and I felt this would just add onto the pile." She met Rachel's eyes. "I—I'll tell you next time."

_Next time_.

The words filled Rachel with childlike optimism she hadn't felt in a while, and the feeling emboldened her. "Quinn, I'm going to be perfectly honest," she prefaced with a deep breath. She squeezed Quinn's fingers and nervously licked her lower lip. "I want you, Quinn. And by that I mean I want to _be_ with you. I never enter a relationship or any form of engagement or commitment without planning to remain devoted for the long haul. And I just—I love you, Quinn. So if you want this, and please want this, then let's just _be_. Isn't that what you want?"

Quinn nodded hurriedly as if this was her only opportunity at happiness. She squeezed Rachel's hand for dear life and leaned over the counter. "This is what I want. _You're_ what I want," she added.

Rachel stole her hand back to quickly walk around the counter. When she was presented with Quinn with no barrier in sight, she grew bashful. Her hands clasped tightly behind her back as she stepped forward, bouncing from foot to foot in excitement. "Hi."

Quinn slipped off her stool to come face to face with Rachel. Her hand rose to cup a rosy cheek and direct Rachel's eyes to meet her own. The light in them that shined brightly in adoration at her would put the shiniest star to shame.

A grin split her face as her thumb brushed across Rachel's cheek and endless possibilities that this new endeavor known as a 'relationship,' 'engagement,' and 'commitment' would afford them rushed through her mind. "Hi."


End file.
